THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PQ2163 

.C$13 
1901 


This  book  is  due  at  the 
last  date  stamped  unde 
renewed  by  bringing  it 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00046703968 

DATE 
DIE 


RET. 


JUN  0  8  191 


in  07*91 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


Form  No.  513 


THE  TEMPLE  EDITION 

OF  THE 

COMEDIE  HUM AINE 

Edited  by 

GEORGE  SAINTSBURY 


All  rights  reserved 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/chouansleschouanOObalz 


THE 

CHOUANS 

(les»chouans) 

-  BY  ► 

H>DE>BALZAC 


Translated  •  Vy 

*  ELLEN -MARRIAGE 

With'a'Fiontiipiece 

&i  ched  »lry 
D'MURRAySMITH 


*  19  Ol  • 

^THE'MACMIIi-'ANr 
*  COMPANY  * 

66  FIFTH  /r^N  »  /->rv  AVENUE  /;  \ 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PREFACE  .  •  •.«••<  xi 
THE  CHO  VANS 

I.  THE  AMBUSCADE 
II.  A  NOTION  OF  FOUCHe's  •  •  •  •  •  68 

III,  A  DAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW  ,  ,  t  1 97 

O 

ro         •  , 

a  2 


THE  CHOUANS 


[Les  Chouans) 
PREFACE 

When,  many  years  after  its  original  publication,  Balzac 
reprinted  Les  Chouans  as  a  part  of  the  Comedie  Humaine^ 
he  spoke  of  it  in  the  dedication  to  his  old  friend  M. 
Theodore  Dablin  as  c  perhaps  better  than  its  reputation.' 
He  probably  referred  to  the  long  time  which  had  passed 
without  a  fresh  demand  for  it ;  for,  as  has  been  pointed 
out  in  the  General  Introduction  to  this  Series  of  transla- 
tions, it  first  made  his  fame,  and  with  it  he  first  emerged 
from  the  purgatory  of  anonymous  hack-writing.  It  would 
therefore  have  argued  a  little  ingratitude  in  him  had 
he  shown  himself  dissatisfied  with  the  original  reception. 
The  book,  however,  has,  it  may  be  allowed,  never  ranked 
among  the  special  favourites  of  Balzacians ;  and  though 
it  was  considerably  altered  and  improved  from  its  first 
form,  it  has  certain  defects  which  are  not  likely  to  escape 
any  reader.  In  it  Balzac  was  still  trying  the  adventure- 
novel,  the  novel  of  incident ;  and  though  he  here  sub- 
stitutes a  nobler  model — Scott,  for  whom  he  always  had 
a  reverence  as  intelligent  as  it  was  generous — for  the 
Radcliffian  or  Lewisian  ideals  of  his  nonage,  he  was  still 
not  quite  at  home.     Some  direct  personal  knowledge  or 


Preface 


experience  of  the  matters  he  wrote  about  was  always 
more  or  less  necessary  to  him  ;  and  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  afterwards  acknowledged,  in  a  letter  to  Beyle, 
the  presence  of  such  knowledge  in  that  writer's  military 
passages,  confesses  his  own  sense  of  inferiority. 

It  is  not,  however,  in  the  actual  fighting  scenes,  though 
they  are  not  of  the  first  class,  that  the  drawbacks  of  Les 
Chouans  lie.  Though  the  present  version  is  not  my 
work,  I  translated  the  book  some  years  ago,  a  process 
which  brings  out  much  more  vividly  than  mere  reading 
the  want  of  art  which  distinguishes  the  management 
of  the  story.  There  are  in  it  the  materials  of  a  really 
first-rate  romance.  The  opening  skirmish,  the  hair- 
breadth escape  of  Montauran  at  Alen^on,  the  scenes  at 
the  Vivetiere,  not  a  few  of  the  incidents  of  the  attack  on 
Fougeres,  and,  above  all,  the  finale,  are,  or  at  least  might 
have  been  made,  of  the  most  thrilling  interest.  Nor  are 
they  by  any  means  ill  supported  by  the  characters.  Hulot 
is  one  of  the  best  of  Balzac's  grognard  heroes  ;  Montauran 
may  be  admitted  by  the  most  faithful  and  jealous  devotee 
of  Scott  to  be  a  jeune  premier  who  unites  all  the  qualifica- 
tions of  his  part  with  a  freedom  from  the  flatness  which  not 
unfrequently  characterises  Sir  Walter's  own  good  young 
men,  and  which  drew  from  Mr.  Thackeray  the  equivocal 
encomium  that  he  should  like  to  be  mother-in-law  to  several 
of  them.  Marche-a-Terre  is  very  nearly  a  masterpiece  ; 
and  many  of  the  minor  personages  are  excellent  for  their 
work.  Only  Corentin  (who,  by  the  way,  appears  fre- 
quently in  other  books  later)  is  perhaps  below  what  he 
ought  to  be.  But  the  women  make  up  for  him.  Made- 
moiselle de  Verneuil  has  admirable  piquancy  and  charm ; 
Madame  du  Gua  is  a  good  bad  heroine ;  and  Francine  is 


Preface 


xiii 


not  a  mere  soubrette  of  the  machine-made  pattern  by 
any  means. 

How  is  it,  then,  that  the  effect  of  the  book  is,  as  many 
readers  unquestionably  feel  it  to  be,  c  heavy  *  ?  The 
answer  is  not  very  difficult ;  it  is  simply  that  Balzac  had 
not  yet  learned  his  trade,  and  that  this  particular  trade  was 
not  exactly  his.  He  had  a  certain  precedent  in  some — 
not  in  all,  nor  in  the  best — of  Scott's  books,  and  in  many 
of  his  other  models,  for  setting  slowly  to  work  ;  and  he 
abused  that  precedent  here  in  the  most  merciless  manner. 
If  two-thirds  of  the  first  chapter  had  been  cut  away,  and 
the  early  part  of  the  second  had  been  not  less  courage- 
ously thinned,  the  book  would  probably  have  twice  the 
hold  that  it  at  present  has  on  the  imagination.  As  it  is, 
I  have  known  some  readers  (and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
they  are  fairly  representative)  who  honestly  avowed 
themselves  to  be  c choked  off'  by  the  endless  vacillations 
and  conversations  of  Hulot  at  the  c  Pilgrim,'  by  the 
superabundant  talk  at  the  inn,  and  generally  by  the  very 
fault  which,  as  I  have  elsewhere  noticed,  Balzac  repre- 
hends in  a  brother  novelist,  the  fault  of  giving  the  reader 
no  definite  grasp  of  story.  Balzac  could  not  deny  himself 
the  luxury  of  long  conversations  ;  but  he  never  had,  and 
at  this  time  had  less  than  at  any  other,  the  art  which 
Dumas  possessed  in  perfection — the  art  of  making  the 
conversation  tell  the  story.  Until,  therefore,  the  talk 
between  the  two  lovers  on  the  way  to  the  Vivetiere,  the 
action  is  so  obscure,  so  broken  by  description  and  chat, 
and  so  little  relieved,  except  in  the  actual  skirmish  and 
wherever  Marche-a-Terre  appears,  by  real  business,  that 
it  cannot  but  be  felt  as  fatiguing.  It  can  only  be  promised 
that  if  the  reader  will  bear  up  or  skip  intelligently  till  this 


xiv 


Preface 


point  he  will  not  be  likely  to  find  any  fault  with  the  book 
afterwards.  The  jour  sans  lendemain  is  admirable  almost 
throughout. 

This  unfortunate  effect  is  considerably  assisted  by  the 
working  of  one  of  Balzac's  numerous  and  curious 
crotchets.  Those  who  have  only  a  slight  acquaintance 
with  the  Comedie  Humaine  must  have  noticed  that 
chapter-divisions  are  for  the  most  part  wanting  in  it,  or 
are  so  few  and  of  such  enormous  length,  that  they  are 
rather  parts  than  chapters.  It  must  not,  however,  be 
supposed  that  this  was  an  original  peculiarity  of  the 
author's,  or  one  founded  on  any  principle.  Usually, 
though  not  invariably,  the  original  editions  of  his  longer 
novels,  and  even  of  his  shorter  tales,  are  divided  into 
chapters,  with  or  without  headings,  like  those  of  other 
and  ordinary  mortals.  But  when  he  came  to  codify  and 
arrange  the  Comedie^  he,  for  some  reason  which  I  do  not 
remember  to  have  seen  explained  anywhere  in  his  letters, 
struck  out  these  divisions,  or  most  of  them,  and  left  the 
books  solid,  or  merely  broken  up  into  a  few  parts.  Thus 
Le  Dernier  Chouan  (the  original  book)  had  thirty-two 
chapters,  though  it  had  i\o  chapter-headings,  while  the 
remodelled  work  as  here  given  has  only  three,  the  first 
containing  nearly  a  fifth,  the  second  nearly  two-fifths, 
and  the  third  not  much  less  than  a  half  of  the  whole 
work. 

Now,  everybody  who  has  attended  to  the  matter  must 
see  that  this  absence  of  chapters  is  a  great  addition  of 
heaviness  in  the  case  where  a  book  is  exposed  to  the 
charge  of  being  heavy.  The  named  chapters  of  Dumas 
supply  something  like  an  argument  of  the  whole  book  \ 
and  even  the  unnamed  ones  of  Scot  lighten,  punctuate, 


Preface 


xv 


and  relieve  the  course  of  the  story.  It  may  well  be  that 
Balzac's  sense  that  c  the  story '  with  him  was  not  the  first, 
or  anything  like  the  first  consideration,  had  something  to 
do  with  his  innovation.  But  I  do  not  think  it  improved 
his  books  at  any  time,  and  in  the  more  romantic  class  of 
them  it  is  a  distinct  disadvantage. 

Le  Dernier  Chouan  ou  La  Bret  ague  en  1800  first 
appeared  in  March  1829,  published  in  four  volumes  by 
Canel,  with  a  preface  (afterwards  suppressed)  bearing  date 
the  15  th  January  of  the  same  year.  Its  subsequent  form, 
with  the  actual  title,  threw  the  composition  back  to 
August  1827,  and  gave  Fougeres  itself  as  the  place  of 
composition.  This  revised  form,  or  second  edition, 
appeared  in  1 834  in  two  volumes,  published  by  Vimont. 
When,  twelve  years  later,  it  took  rank  in  the  Comedie 
Humaine  as  part  of  the  Scenes  de  la  vie  Militaire^  a  second 
preface  was  inserted,  which  in  its  turn  was  cancelled  by 
the  author.  G.  S. 


THE  CHOUANS 


OR  BRITTANY  IN  1799 

To  M.  Theodore  Dablin^  Merchant^ 
My  first  book  to  my  earliest  friend. 

De  Balzac. 

I 

THE  AMBUSCADE 

In  the  early  days  of  the  year  vni.  at  the  beginning  of 
Vendemiaire,  or  towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember 1799,  reckoning  by  the  present  calendar,  some 
hundred  peasants  and  a  fair  number  of  townspeople  who 
had  set  out  from  Fougeres  in  the  morning  to  go  to 
Mayenne,  were  climbing  the  mountain  of  the  Pelerine, 
which  lies  about  half-way  between  Fougeres  and  Ernee, 
a  little  place  where  travellers  are  wont  to  break  their 
journey.  The  detachment,  divided  up  into  larger  and 
smaller  groups,  presented  as  a  whole  such  an  outlandish 
collection  of  costumes,  and  brought  together  individuals 
belonging  to  such  widely  different  neighbourhoods  and 
callings,  that  it  may  be  worth  while  to  describe  their 
various  characteristics,  and  in  this  way  impart  to  the 
narrative  the  lifelike  colouring  that  is  so  highly  valued  in 
our  day,  although,  according  to  certain  critics,  this  is  a 
hindrance  to  the  portrayal  of  sentiments. 

Some  of  the  peasants — most  of  them  in  fact — went 
barefoot.   Their  whole  clothing  consisted  in  a  large  goat- 

A 


2 


The  Chouans 


skin,  which  covered  them  from  shoulder  to  knee,  and 
breeches  of  very  coarse  white  cloth,  woven  of  uneven 
threads,  that  bore  witness  to  the  neglected  state  of  local 
industries.  Their  long  matted  locks  mingled  so  habitually 
with  the  hairs  of  their  goat-skin  cloaks,  and  so  completely 
hid  the  faces  that  they  bent  upon  the  earth,  that  the  goat's 
skin  might  have  been  readily  taken  for  a  natural  growth, 
and  at  first  sight  the  miserable  wearers  could  hardly  be 
distinguished  from  the  animals  whose  hide  now  served 
them  for  a  garment.  But  very  shortly  a  pair  of  bright 
eyes  peering  through  the  hair,  like  drops  of  dew  shining 
in  thick  grass,  spoke  of  a  human  intelligence  within, 
though  the  expression  of  the  eyes  certainly  inspired  more 
fear  than  pleasure.  Their  heads  were  covered  with  dirty 
red  woollen  bonnets,  very  like  the  Phrygian  caps  that  the 
Republic  in  those  days  had  adopted  as  a  symbol  of  liberty. 
Each  carried  a  long  wallet  made  of  sacking  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  end  of  a  thick  knotty  oak  cudgel.  There 
was  not  much  in  the  wallets. 

Others  wore  above  their  caps  a  great  broad-brimmed 
felt  hat,  with  a  band  of  woollen  chenille  of  various  colours 
about  the  crown,  and  these  were  clad  altogether  in  the 
same  coarse  linen  cloth  that  furnished  the  wallets  and 
breeches  of  the  first  group ;  there  was  scarcely  a  trace  of 
the  new  civilisation  in  their  dress.  Their  long  hair 
straggled  over  the  collar  of  a  round  jacket  which  reached 
barely  to  the  hips,  a  garment  peculiar  to  the  Western 
peasantry,  with  little  square  side  pockets  in  it.  Beneath 
this  open-fronted  jacket  was  a  waistcoat,  fastened  with 
big  buttons  and  made  of  the  same  cloth.  Some  wore 
sabots  on  the  march,  others  thriftily  carried  them  in  their 
hands.  Soiled  with  long  wear,  blackened  with  dust  and 
sweat,  this  costume  had  one  distinct  merit  of  its  own  ;  for 
if  it  was  less  original  than  the  one  first  described,  it 
represented  a  period  of  historical  transition,  that  ended  in 
the  almost  magnificent  apparel  of  a  few  men  who  shone 
out  like  flowers  in  the  midst  of  the  company. 


The  Ambuscade 


3 


Their  red  or  yellow  waistcoats,  decorated  with  two 
parallel  rows  of  copper  buttons,  like  a  sort  of  oblong 
cuirass,  and  their  blue  linen  breeches,  stood  out  in  vivid 
contrast  to  the  white  clothing  and  skin  cloaks  of  their 
comrades ;  they  looked  like  poppies  and  cornflowers  in  a 
field  of  wheat.  Some  few  of  them  were  shod  with  the 
wooden  sabots  that  the  Breton  peasants  make  for  them- 
selves, but  most  of  them  wore  great  iron-bound  shoes  and 
coats  of  very  coarse  material,  shaped  after  the  old  French 
fashion,  to  which  our  peasants  still  cling  religiously. 
Their  shirt  collars  were  fastened  by  silver  studs  with 
designs  of  an  anchor  or  a  heart  upon  them ;  and,  finally, 
their  wallets  seemed  better  stocked  than  those  of  their 
comrades.  Some  of  them  even  included  a  flask,  filled 
with  brandy  no  doubt,  in  their  traveller's  outfit,  hanging 
it  round  their  necks  by  a  string. 

A  few  townspeople  among  these  semi-barbarous  folk 
looked  as  if  they  marked  the  extreme  limits  of  civilisation 
in  those  regions.  Like  the  peasants,  they  exhibited  con- 
spicuous differences  of  costume,  some  wearing  round 
bonnets,  and  some  flat  or  peaked  caps  ;  some  had  high 
boots  with  the  tops  turned  down,  some  wore  shoes 
surmounted  by  gaiters.  Ten  or  so  of  them  had  put 
themselves  into  the  jacket  known  to  the  Republicans  as 
a  carmagnole ;  others  again,  well-to-do  artisans  doubtless, 
were  dressed  from  head  to  foot  in  materials  of  uniform 
colour ;  and  the  most  elegantly  arrayed  of  them  all  wore 
swallow-tailed  coats  or  riding-coats  of  blue  or  green  cloth 
in  more  or  less  threadbare  condition.  These  last,  more- 
over, wore  boots  of  various  patterns,  as  became  people  of 
consequence,  and  flourished  large  canes,  like  fellows  who 
face  their  luck  with  a  stout  heart.  A  head  carefully 
powdered  here  and  there,  or  decently  plaited  queues, 
showed  the  desire  to  make  the  most  of  ourselves  which 
is  inspired  in  us  by  a  new  turn  taken  in  our  fortunes  or 
our  education. 

Any  one  seeing  these  men  brought  together  as  if  by 


4 


The  Chouans 


chance,  and  astonished  at  finding  themselves  assembled, 
might  have  thought  that  a  conflagration  had  driven  the 
population  of  a  little  town  from  their  homes.  But  the 
times  and  the  place  made  this  body  of  men  interesting 
for  very  different  reasons.  A  spectator  initiated  into  the 
secrets  of  the  civil  discords  which  then  were  rending 
France  would  have  readily  picked  out  the  small  number 
of  citizens  in  that  company  upon  whose  loyalty  the 
Republic  could  depend,  for  almost  every  one  who 
composed  it  had  taken  part  against  the  Government  in 
the  war  of  four  years  ago.  One  last  distinguishing 
characteristic  left  no  doubt  whatever  as  to  the  divided 
opinions  of  the  body  of  men.  The  Republicans  alone 
were  in  spirits  as  they  marched.  As  for  the  rest  of  the 
individuals  that  made  up  the  band,  obviously  as  they 
might  differ  in  their  dress,  one  uniform  expression  was 
visible  on  all  faces  and  in  the  attitude  of  each — the 
expression  which  misfortune  gives. 

The  faces  of  both  townspeople  and  peasants  bore  the 
stamp  of  deep  dejection ;  there  was  something  sullen 
about  the  silence  they  kept.  All  of  them  were  bowed 
apparently  beneath  the  yoke  of  the  same  thought — a 
terrible  thought,  no  doubt,  but  carefully  hidden  away. 
Every  face  was  inscrutable ;  the  unwonted  lagging  of 
their  steps  alone  could  betray  a  secret  understanding.  A 
few  of  them  were  marked  out  by  a  rosary  that  hung 
round  about  their  necks,  although  they  ran  some  risks  by 
keeping  about  them  this  sign  of  a  faith  that  had  been 
suppressed  rather  than  uprooted  :  and  one  of  these  from 
time  to  time  would  shake  back  his  hair  and  defiantly  raise 
his  head.  Then  they  would  furtively  scan  the  woods, 
the  footpaths,  and  the  crags  that  shut  in  the  road  on  either 
side,  much  as  a  dog  sniffs  the  wind  as  he  tries  to  scent 
the  game ;  but  as  they  only  heard  the  monotonous  sound 
of  the  steps  of  their  mute  comrades,  they  hung  their 
heads  again  with  the  forlorn  faces  of  convicts  on  their 
way  to  the  galleys,  where  they  are  now  to  live  and  die. 


The  Ambuscade 


5 


The  advance  of  this  column  upon  Mayenne,  composed 
as  it  was  of  such  heterogeneous  elements,  and  represent- 
ing such  widely  different  opinions,  was  explained  very 
readily  by  the  presence  of  another  body  of  troops  which 
headed  the  detachment.  About  a  hundred  and  fifty 
soldiers  were  marching  at  the  head  of  the  column  under 
the  command  of  the  chief  of  a  demi-brigade.  It  may  not  be 
unprofitable  to  explain,  for  those  who  have  not  witnessed 
the  drama  of  the  Revolution,  that  this  appellation  was 
substituted  for  the  title  of  colonel,  then  rejected  by  patriots 
as  too  aristocratic.  The  soldiers  belonged  to  a  demi- 
brigade  of  infantry  stationed  in  the  depot  at  Mayenne. 
In  those  disturbed  times  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic  were 
all  dubbed  Blues  by  the  population  of  the  West.  The  blue 
and  red  uniforms  of  the  early  days  of  the  Republic,  which 
are  too  well  remembered  even  yet  to  require  description, 
had  given  rise  to  this  nickname.  So  the  detachment  of 
Blues  was  serving  as  an  escort  to  this  assemblage,  con- 
sisting of  men  who  were  nearly  all  ill  satisfied  at  being 
thus  directed  upon  Mayenne,  there  to  be  submitted  to  a 
military  discipline  which  must  shortly  clothe  them  all 
alike,  and  drill  a  uniformity  into  their  march  and  ways  of 
thinking  which  was  at  present  entirely  lacking  among 
them. 

This  column  was  the  contingent  of  Fougeres,  ob- 
tained thence  with  great  difficulty ;  and  representing  its 
share  of  the  levy  which  the  Directory  of  the  French 
Republic  had  required  by  a  law  passed  on  the  tenth  day 
of  the  previous  Messidor.  The  Government  had  asked 
for  a  subsidy  of  a  hundred  millions,  and  for  a  hundred 
thousand  men,  so  as  to  send  reinforcements  at  once  to 
their  armies,  then  defeated  by  the  Austrians  in  Italy  and 
by  the  Prussians  in  Germany;  while  Suwarroff,  who 
had  aroused  Russia's  hopes  of  making  a  conquest  of 
France,  menaced  them  from  Switzerland.  Then  it  was 
that  the  departments  of  the  West  known  as  la  Vendee, 
Brittany,  and  part  of  Lower  Normandy,  which  had  been 


6 


The  Chouans 


pacified  three  years  ago  by  the  efforts  of  General  Hoche 
after  four  years  of  hard  fighting,  appeared  to  think  that 
the  moment  had  come  to  renew  the  struggle. 

Attacked  thus  in  so  many  directions,  the  Republic 
seemed  to  be  visited  with  a  return  of  her  early  vigour. 
At  first  the  defence  of  the  departments  thus  threatened 
had  been  intrusted  to  the  patriotic  residents  by  one  of  the 
provisions  of  that  same  law  of  Messidor.  The  Govern- 
ment, as  a  matter  of  fact,  had  neither  troops  nor  money 
available  for  the  prosecution  of  civil  warfare,  so  the 
difficulty  was  evaded  by  a  bit  of  bombast  on  the  part  of 
the  Legislature.  They  could  do  nothing  for  the  revolted 
districts,  so  they  reposed  complete  confidence  in  them. 
Perhaps  also  they  expected  that  this  measure,  by  setting 
the  citizens  at  odds  among  themselves,  would  extinguish 
the  rebellion  at  its  source.  c  Free  companies  will  be 
organised  in  the  departments  of  the  West* — so  ran  the 
proviso  which  brought  about  such  dreadful  retaliation. 

This  impolitic  ordinance  drove  the  West  into  so  hostile 
an  attitude,  that  the  Directory  had  no  hope  left  of  sub- 
duing it  all  at  once.  In  a  few  days,  therefore,  the 
Assemblies  were  asked  for  particular  enactments  with 
regard  to  the  slight  reinforcements  due  by  virtue  of  the 
proviso  that  had  authorised  the  formation  of  the  free 
companies.  So  a  new  law  had  been  proclaimed  a  few 
days  before  this  story  begins,  and  came  into  effect  on  the 
third  complementary  day  of  the  calendar  in  the  year  vn., 
ordaining  that  these  scanty  levies  of  men  should  be 
organised  into  regiments.  The  regiments  were  to  bear 
the  names  of  the  departments  of  the  Sarthe,  Ourthe, 
Mayenne,  Ille-et-Vilaine,  Morbihan,  Loire-Inferieure,and 
Maine-et-Loire.  These  regiments — so  the  law  provided — 
are  specially  enrolled  to  oppose  the  Chouans^  and  can  never 
be  drafted  over  the  frontiers  on  any  pretext  whatsoever. 
These  tedious  but  little  known  particulars  explain  at  once 
the  march  of  the  body  of  men  under  escort  by  the  Blues, 
and  the  weakness  of  the  position  in  which  the  Directory 


The  Ambuscade 


7 


found  themselves.  So,  perhaps,  it  is  not  irrelevant  to  add 
that  these  beautiful  and  patriotic  intentions  of  theirs  came 
no  further  on  the  road  to  being  carried  out  than  their 
insertion  in  the  Bulletin  des  Lois.  The  decrees  of  the 
Republic  had  no  longer  the  forces  of  great  moral  ideas,  of 
patriotism,  or  of  terror  behind  them.  These  had  been 
the  causes  of  their  former  practical  efficiency;  so  now 
they  created  men  and  millions  on  paper  which  never 
found  their  way  into  the  army  or  the  treasury.  The 
machinery  of  the  Revolutionary  government  was  directed 
by  incapable  hands,  and  circumstances  made  impression  on 
the  administration  of  the  law  instead  of  being  controlled 
by  it. 

The  departments  of  Mayenne  and  Ille-et-Vilaine  were 
then  in  command  of  an  experienced  officer,  who,  being  on 
the  spot,  determined  that  now  was  the  opportune  moment 
for  arranging  to  draw  his  contingents  out  of  Brittany,  and 
more  particularly  from  Fougeres,  which  was  one  of  the 
most  formidable  centres  of  Chouan  operations,  hoping  in 
this  way  to  diminish  the  strength  of  these  districts  from 
which  danger  threatened.  This  devoted  veteran  availed 
himself  of  the  delusive  provisions  of  the  law  to  proclaim 
that  he  would  at  once  arm  and  equip  the  requisitionaries, 
and  that  he  held  in  hand  for  their  benefit  a  month's  pay, 
which  the  Government  had  promised  to  these  irregular 
forces.  Although  Brittany  declined  every  kind  of  military 
service  at  that  time,  this  plan  of  operations  succeeded  at 
the  first  start  on  the  faith  of  the  promises  made,  and  so 
readily  that  the  officer  began  to  grow  uneasy. 

But  he  was  an  old  watch-dog,  and  not  easily  put  off  his 
guard,  so  that,  as  soon  as  he  saw  a  portion  of  his  con- 
tingent hurrying  to  the  bureau  of  the  district,  he  suspected 
that  there  was  some  hidden  motive  for  this  rapid  influx  of 
men  -y  and,  perhaps,  he  had  guessed  rightly  when  he 
believed  that  their  object  was  to  procure  arms  for  them- 
selves. Upon  this  he  took  measures  to  secure  his  retreat 
upon  Alen^on,  without  waiting  for  the  later  arrivals.  He 


8 


The  Chouans 


wished  to  be  within  call  of  the  better  affected  districts, 
though  even  there  the  continual  spread  of  the  insurrection 
made  the  success  of  his  plans  extremely  problematical.  In 
obedience  to  his  instructions,  he  had  kept  the  news  of  the 
disasters  that  had  befallen  our  armies  abroad  a  profound 
secret,  as  well  as  the  disquieting  tidings  that  came  from 
la  Vendee ;  and  on  the  morning  when  this  story  begins, 
he  had  made  an  effort  to  reach  Mayenne  by  a  forced 
march.  Once  there,  he  thought  to  carry  out  the  law  at 
his  leisure,  and  to  fill  up  the  gaps  in  his  demi-brigade  with 
Breton  conscripts.  That  word  conscript^  which  became 
so  well  known  later  on,  had  replaced  for  the  first  time, 
in  the  wording  of  the  law,  the  term  Requisitionary, 
by  which  the  Republican  recruits  had  at  first  been 
described. 

Before  leaving  Fougeres,  the  commandant  had  made  his 
own  troops  surreptitiously  take  charge  of  all  the  cartridge 
boxes  and  rations  of  bread  belonging  to  the  entire  body 
of  men,  so  that  the  attention  of  the  conscripts  should  not 
be  called  to  the  length  of  the  journey.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  call  no  halt  on  the  way  to  Ernee ;  the 
Chouans  doubtless  were  abroad  in  the  district,  and  the 
men  of  his  new  contingent,  once  recovered  from  their 
surprise,  might  enter  into  concerted  action  with  them. 
A  sullen  silence  prevailed  among  the  band  of  requisition- 
aries,  who  had  been  taken  aback  by  the  old  republican's 
tactics  ;  and  this,  taken  with  their  lagging  gait  as  they 
climbed  the  mountain  side,  increased  to  the  highest  pitch 
the  anxiety  of  the  commandant  of  the  demi-brigade, 
Hulot  by  name.  He  was  keenly  interested  in  noting  those 
marked  characteristics  which  have  been  previously  de- 
scribed, and  was  walking  in  silence  among  five  subaltern 
officers  who  all  respected  their  chief's  preoccupied  mood. 

As  Hulot  reached  the  summit  of  the  Pelerine,  how- 
ever, he  instinctively  turned  his  head  to  examine  the 
restless  faces  of  the  requisitionaries,  and  forthwith  broke 
the  silence.    As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Bretons  had  been 


The  Ambuscade 


9 


moving  more  and  more  slowly,  and  already  they  had  put 
an  interval  of  some  two  hundred  paces  between  them  and 
their  escort.  Hulot  made  a  sort  of  grimace  peculiar  to 
him  at  this. 

'What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with  the  ragamuffins  ? ' 
he  cried  in  the  deep  tones  of  his  voice.  c  Instead  of 
stepping  out,  these  conscripts  of  ours  have  their  legs 
glued  together,  I  think.* 

At  these  words  the  officers  who  were  with  him  turned 
to  look  behind  them,  acting  on  an  impulse  like  that 
which  makes  us  wake  with  a  start  at  some  sudden 
noise.  The  sergeants  and  corporals  followed  their  ex- 
ample, and  the  whole  company  came  to  a  standstill, 
without  waiting  for  the  wished-for  word  of  command  to 
c  Halt  !  9  If,  in  the  first  place,  the  officers  gave  a 
glance  over  the  detachment  that  was  slowly  crawling  up 
the  Pelerine  like  an  elongated  tortoise,  they  were  suffi- 
ciently struck  with  the  view  that  spread  itself  out  before 
their  eyes  to  leave  Hulot's  remark  unanswered,  its 
importance  not  being  at  all  appreciated  by  them.  They 
were  young  men  who,  like  many  others,  had  been  torn 
away  from  learned  studies  to  defend  their  country,  and 
the  art  of  war  had  not  yet  extinguished  the  love  of  other 
arts  in  them. 

Although  they  were  coming  from  Fougeres,  whence 
the  same  picture  that  now  lay  before  their  eyes  could  be 
seen  equally  well,  they  could  not  help  admiring  it  again 
for  the  last  time,  with  all  the  differences  that  the  change 
in  the  point  of  view  had  made  in  it.  They  were  not 
unlike  those  dilettanti  who  take  more  pleasure  in  a  piece 
of  music  for  a  closer  knowledge  of  its  details. 

From  the  heights  of  the  Pelerine  the  wide  valley  of  the 
Couesnon  extends  before  the  traveller's  eyes.  The  town 
of  Fougeres  occupies  one  of  the  highest  points  on  the 
horizon.  From  the  high  rock  on  which  it  is  built  the 
castle  commands  three  or  four  important  ways  of  com- 
munication, a  position  which  formerly  made  it  one  of  the 


lO 


The  Chouans 


keys  of  Brittany.  From  their  point  of  view  the  officers 
saw  the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  this  basin,  which  is 
as  remarkable  for  its  marvellously  fertile  soil  as  for  the 
varied  scenery  it  presents.  The  mountains  of  schist  rise 
above  it  on  all  sides,  as  in  an  amphitheatre,  the  warm 
colouring  of  their  sides  is  disguised  by  the  oak  forests 
upon  them,  and  little  cool  valleys  lie  concealed  in  their 
slopes. 

The  crags  describe  a  wall  about  an  apparently  circular 
enclosure,  and  in  the  depths  below  them  lies  a  vast 
stretch  of  delicate  meadow-land  laid  out  like  an  English 
garden.  A  multitude  of  irregularly-shaped  quick-set 
hedges  surrounds  the  numberless  domains,  and  trees  are 
planted  everywhere,  so  that  this  green  carpet  presents  an 
appearance  not  often  seen  in  French  landscapes.  Unsus- 
pected beauty  lies  hidden  in  abundance  among  its  manifold 
shadows  and  lights,  and  effects  strong  and  broad  enough 
to  strike  the  most  indifferent  nature. 

At  this  particular  moment  the  stretch  of  country  was 
brightened  by  a  fleeting  glory  such  as  Nature  loves  at  times 
to  use  to  heighten  the  grandeur  of  her  imperishable  j 
creations.  All  the  while  that  the  detachment  was  cross- 
ing the  valley,  the  rising  sun  had  slowly  scattered  the 
thin  white  mists  that  hover  above  the  fields  in  September 
mornings  ;  and  now  when  the  soldiers  looked  back,  an 
invisible  hand  seemed  to  raise  the  last  of  the  veils  that  had 
covered  the  landscape.  The  fine  delicate  clouds  were 
like  a  transparent  gauze  enshrouding  precious  jewels  that 
lie,  exciting  our  curiosity,  behind  it.  All  along  the  wide 
stretch  of  horizon  that  the  officers  could  see,  there  was 
not  the  lightest  cloud  in  heaven  to  persuade  them  by  its 
silver  brightness  that  that  great  blue  vault  above  them 
was  really  the  sky.  It  was  more  like  a  silken  canopy 
held  up  by  the  uneven  mountain  peaks,  and  borne  aloft 
to  protect  this  wonderful  combination  of  field  and  plain 
and  wood  and  river. 

The  officers  did  not  weary  of  scanning  that  extent  of 


The  Ambuscade 


ii 


plain,  which  gave  rise  to  so  much  beauty  of  field  and 
wood.  Some  of  them  looked  hither  and  thither  for  long 
before  their  gaze  was  fixed  at  last  on  the  wonderful 
diversity  of  colour  in  the  woods,  where  the  sober  hues 
of  groups  of  trees  that  were  turning  sere  brought  out 
more  fully  the  richer  hues  of  the  bronze  foliage,  a  con- 
trast heightened  still  further  by  irregular  indentations  of 
emerald  green  meadow.  Others  dwelt  on  the  warm 
colouring  of  the  fields,  with  their  cone-shaped  stooks  of 
buckwheat  piled  up  like  the  sheaves  of  arms  that  soldiers 
make  in  a  bivouac,  and  the  opposing  hues  of  the  fields  of 
rye  that  were  interspersed  among  them,  all  golden  with 
stubble  after  the  harvest.  There  was  a  dark-coloured 
slate  roof  here  and  there,  with  a  white  smoke  ascending 
from  it ;  and  here  again  a  bright  silvery  streak  of  some 
winding  bit  of  the  Couesnon  would  attract  the  gaze — 
a  snare  for  the  eyes  which  follow  it,  and  so  lead  the  soul 
all  unconsciously  into  vague  musings.  The  fresh  fra- 
grance of  the  light  autumn  wind  and  the  strong  forest 
scents  came  up  like  an  intoxicating  incense  for  those  who 
stood  admiring  this  beautiful  country,  and  saw  with 
delight  its  strange  wild-flowers  and  the  vigorous  green 
growth  that  makes  it  a  rival  of  the  neighbouring  land 
of  Britain,  the  country  which  bears  the  same  name  in 
common  with  it.  A  few  cattle  gave  life  to  the  scene, 
that  was  already  full  of  dramatic  interest.  The  birds 
were  singing,  giving  to  the  breezes  in  the  valley  a  soft 
low  vibration  of  music. 

If  the  attentive  imagination  will  discern  to  the  utmost 
the  splendid  effects  of  the  lights  and  shadows,  the  misty 
outlines  of  the  hills,  the  unexpected  distant  views  afforded 
in  places  where  there  was  a  gap  among  the  trees,  a  broad 
stretch  of  water,  or  the  coy,  swiftly-winding  courses  of 
streams ;  if  memory  fills  in,  so  to  speak,  these  outlines, 
brief  as  the  moment  that  they  represent ;  then  those  for 
whom  these  pictures  possess  a  certain  worth  will  form 
a  dim  idea  of  the  enchanting  scene  that  came  as  a 


12 


The  Chouans 


surprise  to  the  yet  impressionable  minds  of  the  young 
officers. 

They  thought  that  these  poor  creatures  were  leaving 
their  own  country  and  their  beloved  customs  in  sadness, 
in  order  to  die,  perhaps,  on  foreign  soil,  and  instinctively 
forgave  them  for  a  reluctance  which  they  well  under- 
stood. Then  with  a  kindness  of  heart  natural  to  soldiers, 
they  disguised  their  complaisance  under  the  appearance  of 
a  wish  to  study  the  lovely  landscape  from  a  military  point  of 
view.  But  Hulot,  for  the  commandant  must  be  called 
by  his  name,  to  avoid  his  scarcely  euphonious  title  of 
chief  of  demi-brigade,  was  not  the  kind  of  soldier  who  is 
smitten  with  the  charms  of  scenery  at  a  time  when  danger 
is  at  hand,  even  if  the  Garden  of  Eden  were  to  lie  before 
him.  He  shook  his  head  disapprovingly,  and  his  thick 
black  eyebrows  were  contracted,  giving  a  very  stern  expres- 
sion to  his  face. 

c  Why  the  devil  don't  they  come  along  ? 9  he  asked  for 
the  second  time,  in  a  voice  that  had  grown  hoarse  with 
many  a  hard  campaign.  c  Is  there  some  Holy  Virgin 
or  other  in  the  village  whose  hand  they  want  to 
squeeze  ? ' 

4  You  want  to  know  why  ? '  a  voice  replied. 

The  sounds  seemed  to  come  from  one  of  the  horns 
with  which  herdsmen  in  these  dales  call  their  cattle 
together.  The  commandant  wheeled  round  at  the  words, 
as  sharply  as  if  he  had  felt  a  prick  from  a  sword  point,  and 
saw,  two  paces  from  him,  a  queerer  looking  being  than 
any  of  those  now  on  the  way  to  Mayenne  to  serve  the 
Republic. 

The  stranger  was  a  broad-shouldered,  thick-set  man  ; 
his  head  looked  almost  as  large  as  that  of  a  bull,  and  was 
not  unlike  it  in  other  respects  ;  his  wide,  thick  nostrils 
made  his  nose  seem  shorter  than  it  really  was  ;  his  thick 
lips  turned  up  to  display  a  snowy  set  of  teeth,  long  lashes 
bristled  round  the  large  black  eyes,  and  he  had  a  pair  of 
drooping  ears,  and  red  hair  that  seemed  to  belong  rather 


The  Ambuscade 


>3 


to  some  root-eating  race  than  to  the  noble  Caucasian 
stock.  There  was  an  entire  absence  of  any  other 
characteristics  of  civilised  man  about  the  bare  head,  which 
made  it  more  remarkable  still.  His  face  might  have 
been  turned  to  bronze  by  the  sun ;  its  angular  outlines 
suggested  a  remote  resemblance  to  the  granite  rocks  that 
formed  the  underlying  soil  of  the  district,  and  his  face 
was  the  only  discernible  portion  of  the  body  of  this 
strange  being.  From  his  neck  downwards  he  was 
enveloped  in  a  kind  of  smock-frock,  or  blouse  of  a  coarse 
kind  of  material,  much  rougher  than  that  of  which  the 
poorest  conscript's  breeches  were  made.  This  smock- 
frock  or  sarrau^  in  which  an  antiquary  would  have 
recognised  the  saye  {saga)  or  say  on  of  the  Gauls,  reached 
only  half-way  down  his  person,  where  his  nether  integu- 
ments of  goat's  skin  were  fastened  to  it  by  wooden 
skewers,  so  roughly  cut  that  the  bark  was  not  removed 
from  all  of  them.  It  was  scarcely  possible  to  distinguish 
a  human  form  in  the  8  goat-skins '  (so  they  call  them  in 
the  district),  which  completely  covered  his  legs  and 
thighs.  His  feet  were  hidden  by  huge  sabots.  His  long, 
sleek  hair,  very  near  the  colour  of  the  skins  he  wore, 
was  parted  in  the  middle  and  fell  on  either  side  of  his 
face,  much  as  you  see  it  arranged  in  some  mediaeval 
statues  still  existing  in  cathedrals.  Instead  of  the  knotty 
cudgel  with  which  the  conscripts  slung  their  wallets  from 
their  shoulders,  he  was  hugging  a  large  whip  to  his  breast, 
like  a  gun,  a  whip  with  a  cleverly  plaited  thong  that 
seemed  quite  twice  the  usual  length. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  this  quaint  being  seemed 
readily  explicable.  At  the  first  sight  of  him  several 
officers  took  him  for  a  conscript  or  requisitionary  (both  of 
these  terms  were  still  in  use)  who  had  seen  the  halt  made 
by  the  column  and  had  fallen  in  with  it.  Nevertheless 
the  man's  arrival  amazed  the  commandant  strangely ;  for 
though  there  was  not  the  slightest  trace  of  alarm  about 
him,  he  grew  thoughtful.    After  a  survey  of  the  new- 


14 


The  Chouans 


comer,  he  repeated  his  question  mechanically,  as  if  he 
were  preoccupied  with  sinister  thoughts. 

1  Yes,  why  don't  they  come  up  ?    Do  you  happen  to 

know  ? ' 

His  surly  interlocutor  answered  with  an  accent  which 
showed  that  he  found  it  sufficiently  difficult  to  express 
himself  in  French.  6  Because,'  he  said,  stretching  out 
his  big,  rough  hand  towards  Ernee, c  there  lies  Maine,  and 
here  Brittany  ends,'  and  he  struck  the  ground  heavily  as  he 
threw  down  the  handle  of  his  whip  at  the  commandant's  feet. 

If  a  barbarous  tomtom  were  suddenly  struck  in  the 
middle  of  a  piece  of  music,  the  impression  produced  would 
be  very  like  the  effect  made  upon  the  spectators  of  this 
scene  by  the  stranger's  concise  speech.  That  word 
c speech'  will  scarcely  give  an  idea  of  the  hatred,  the 
thirst  for  vengeance  expressed  in  the  scornful  gesture  and 
the  brief  word  or  two,  or  of  the  fierce  and  stern  energy 
in  the  speaker's  face.  The  extreme  roughness  of  the 
man,  who  looked  as  though  he  had  been  hewn  into  shape 
by  an  axe,  his  gnarled  skin,  the  lines  of  ignorant  stupidity 
graven  in  every  feature,  gave  him  the  look  of  a  savage 
divinity.  As  he  stood  there  in  his  prophetic  attitude  he 
looked  like  an  embodied  spirit  of  that  Brittany  which  had 
just  awakened  from  a  three  years'  sleep,  to  begin  a  struggle 
once  more  in  which  victory  could  never  show  her  face 
save  through  a  double  veil  of  crape. 

'There's  a  pretty  image,'  said  Hulot  to  himself.  4 To 
my  mind,  he  looks  like  an  envoy  from  folk  who  are  about 
to  open  negotiations  with  powder  and  ball ! ' 

When  he  had  muttered  these  words  between  his  teeth, 
the  commandant's  eyes  travelled  from  the  man  before 
him  over  the  landscape,  from  the  landscape  to  the  detach- 
ment, from  the  detachment  over  the  steep  slopes  on  either 
side  of  the  way  with  the  tall  gorse-bushes  of  Brittany 
shading  their  summits,  and  thence  he  suddenly  turned 
upon  the  stranger,  whom  he  submitted  to  a  mute 
examination,  ending  it  at  last  by  asking  him  sharply — 


The  Ambuscade  1 5 

1  Where  do  you  come  from  ?  ? 

His  keen,  piercing  eyes  were  trying  to  read  the  secret 
thoughts  beneath  the  inscrutable  face  before  him,  a  face 
which  had  meantime  resumed  the  usual  expression  of 
vacuous  stolidity  that  envelops  a  peasant's  face  in  repose. 

'  From  the  country  of  the  gars,'  the  man  answered, 
without  a  trace  of  apprehension. 

c  Your  name  ? 9 

c  Marche-a-Terre.' 

*  What  makes  you  call  yourself  by  your  Chouan  nick- 
name ?    It  is  against  the  law.' 

Marche-a-Terre,  as  he  called  himself,  gaped  at  the 
commandant  with  such  a  thoroughly  genuine  appearance 
of  imbecility,  that  the  soldier  thought  his  remark  was  not 
understood. 

4  Are  you  part  of  the  Fougeres  requisition  ?  • 

To  this  question  Marche-a-Terre  replied  with  an  4 1 
don't  know,'  in  that  peculiarly  hopeless  fashion  which 
puts  a  stop  to  all  conversation.  He  sat  himself  down 
quietly  at  the  roadside,  drew  from  his  blouse  some  slices 
of  a  thin  dark  bannock  made  of  buckwheat  meal,  the 
staple  food  of  Brittany,  a  melancholy  diet  in  which  only 
a  Breton  can  take  delight,  and  began  to  eat  with  wooden 
imperturbability. 

He  looked  so  absolutely  devoid  of  every  kind  of  intelli- 
gence, that  the  officers  compared  him  as  he  sat  first  to 
one  of  the  cattle  browsing  in  the  pasture  land  below,  next 
to  an  American  Indian,  and  lastly  to  some  aboriginal  savage 
at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  Even  the  commandant 
himself  was  deceived  by  his  attitude,  and  heeded  his  fears 
no  longer,  till  by  way  of  making  assurance  surer  still  he 
gave  a  last  glance  at  the  suspected  herald  of  an  approaching 
massacre,  and  noticed  that  his  hair,  his  blouse,  and  his 
goat-skin  breeches  were  covered  with  thorns,  bits  of 
wood,  scraps  of  bramble  and  leaves,  as  if  the  Chouan  had 
come  through  the  thickets  for  a  long  distance.  He 
looked  significantly  at  his  adjutant  Gerard,  who  was 

i 


i6 


The  Chouans 


standing  beside  him,  gripped  his  hand,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice — 

6  We  went  out  to  look  for  wool,  and  we  shall  go  back 
again  shorn.' 

The  astonished  officers  eyed  one  another  in  silence. 

Here  we  must  digress  a  little,  so  that  those  stay-at- 
home  people  who  are  accustomed  to  believe  nothing 
because  they  never  see  anything  for  themselves,  may  be 
induced  to  sympathise  with  the  fears  of  the  commandant 
Hulot,  for  these  people  would  be  capable  of  denying  the 
existence  of  a  Marche-a-Terre  and  of  the  Western 
peasants  who  behaved  with  such  heroism  in  those  times. 

The  word  gars,  pronounced  gd,  is  a  relic  of  the  Celtic 
tongue.  It  passed  into  French  from  the  Bas-Breton, 
and  of  all  words  in  the  language  that  we  speak  to-day  in 
France,  this  one  preserves  the  oldest  traditions.  The  gats 
was  the  principal  weapon  of  the  Gaels  or  Gauls ;  gaisde 
meant  armed,  gats  meant  valour,  and  gas  force.  The 
close  similarity  proves  that  the  word  gars  is  connected 
with  these  expressions  in  the  language  of  our  ancestors. 
The  word  corresponds  to  the  Latin  word  vir,  a  man ;  the 
significance  at  the  root  of  virtus,  strength  or  courage. 
The  apology  for  this  dissertation  lies  in  the  fact  that  the 
word  is  a  part  of  our  national  history,  and  this  possibly 
may  reinstate  such  words  as  gars, gar f on, gar 'fonette, gar re, 
garcette,  in  the  good  graces  of  some  persons  who  banish 
them  all  from  conversation  as  uncouth  expressions ;  they 
come  of  a  warlike  origin  for  all  that,  and  will  turn  up 
now  and  again  in  the  course  of  this  narrative.  c  C'est  une 
fameuse  garce  !  '  was  the  little  appreciated  eulogium  which 
Mme.  de  Stael  received  in  a  little  canton  of  the  Ven- 
domois,  where  she  spent  some  of  her  days  in  exile. 

The  Gaul  has  left  deeper  traces  of  his  character  in 
Brittany  than  in  all  the  rest  of  France.  Those  parts  of 
the  province,  where  the  wild  life  and  superstitious  spirit 
of  our  rough  ancestors  are  glaringly  evident,  so  to  speak, 
even  in  our  day,  were  called  the  Pays  des  Gars.  When 


The  Ambuscade 


the  population  of  a  district  consists  of  a  number  of 
uncivilised  people  like  those  who  have  just  been  collected 
together  in  the  opening  scene,  the  folk  round  about  in 
the  country  side  call  them  '  The  Gars  of  such  and  such 
a  parish,'  which  classical  epithet  is  a  sort  of  reward  for 
the  loyalty  of  their  efforts  to  preserve  the  traditions  of 
their  Celtic  language  and  customs.  In  their  daily  lives, 
moreover,  there  are  deep  traces  of  the  superstitious  beliefs 
and  practices  of  ancient  times.  Feudal  customs  are  even 
yet  respected,  antiquaries  find  Druidical  monuments  there, 
and  the  spirit  of  modern  civilisation  hesitates  to  traverse 
those  vast  tracts  of  primeval  forest.  There  is  an  incred- 
ible ferocity  and  a  dogged  obstinacy  about  the  national 
character,  but  an  oath  is  religiously  kept.  Our  laws, 
customs,  and  dress,  our  modern  coinage  and  our  language, 
are  utterly  unknown  among  them ;  and  if,  on  the  one  hand, 
their  combination  of  patriarchal  simplicity  and  heroic  virtues 
makes  them  less  apt  at  projecting  complicated  schemes 
than  Mohicans  or  North  American  redskins,  on  the 
other  hand  they  are  as  magnanimous,  as  hardy,  and  as 
shrewd. 

The  fact  that  Brittany  is  situated  in  Europe  makes  it 
very  much  more  interesting  than  Canada.  It  is  sur- 
rounded by  enlightenment,  but  the  beneficent  warmth 
never  penetrates  it ;  the  country  is  like  some  frozen 
piece  of  coal  that  lies,  a  dim  black  mass,  in  the  heart  of  a 
blazing  fire.  The  attempts  made  by  some  shrewd  heads 
to  make  this  large  portion  of  France,  with  its  undeveloped 
resources,  amenable,  to  give  it  social  life  and  prosperity,  had 
failed ;  even  the  efforts  of  the  Government  had  come 
to  nothing  among  a  stationary  people,  wedded  to  the 
usages  prescribed  by  immemorial  tradition.  The  natural 
features  of  the  country  offer  a  sufficient  explanation  of 
this  misfortune  ;  the  land  is  furrowed  with  ravines  and 
torrents,  with  lakes  and  marshes,  it  bristles  with  hedges, 
as  they  call  a  sort  of  earthwork  or  fortification  that  makes 
a  citadel  of  every  field.    There  are  neither  roads  nor 

B 


i8 


The  Chouans 


canals,  and  the  temper  of  an  ignorant  population  must  be 
taken  into  account,  a  population  given  over  to  prejudices 
that  cause  dangers  to  which  this  story  will  bear  witness, 
a  population  that  will  none  of  our  modern  methods  of 
agriculture. 

The  picturesque  nature  of  the  country  and  the  super- 
stitions of  its  inhabitants  both  preclude  the  aggregation 
of  individuals  and  the  consequent  benefits  that  might  be 
gained  from  a  comparison  and  exchange  of  ideas.  There 
are  no  villages.  Frail  structures,  cabins,  as  they  call  them, 
are  scattered  abroad  over  the  country  side,  and  every 
family  there  lives  as  if  in  a  desert.  At  the  only  times 
when  the  people  are  brought  together,  the  meeting  is  a 
brief  one,  and  takes  place  on  Sundays,  or  on  one  of  the 
religious  festivals  observed  by  the  parish.  These  un- 
sociable gatherings  only  last  for  a  few  hours,  and  are  always 
presided  over  by  the  recteur^  the  only  master  that  their 
dull  minds  recognise.  The  peasant  hears  the  awe-inspir- 
ing voice  of  the  priest,  and  returns  to  his  unwholesome 
dwelling  for  the  week  ;  he  goes  out  to  work  and  goes 
home  again  to  sleep.  If  any  one  goes  near  him,  it  is  that 
same  rector,  who  is  the  soul  of  the  country  side.  It 
was  at  the  bidding  of  the  priest,  too,  that  so  many 
thousands  of  men  flung  themselves  upon  the  Republic, 
when  these  very  Breton  districts  furnished  large  bodies 
of  men  for  the  first  Chouan  organisation,  five  years 
before  this  story  begins. 

In  those  days  several  brothers,  daring  smugglers,  named 
Cottereau,  who  gave  their  name  to  the  war,  had  plied 
their  dangerous  trade  between  Laval  and  Fougeres.  But 
there  was  nothing  noble  about  these  rural  outbreaks  ;  for 
if  La  Vendee  had  elevated  brigandage  into  warfare, 
Brittany  had  degraded  war  into  brigandage.  The  pro- 
scription of  the  princes  and  the  overthrow  of  religion 
were,  to  the  Chouans,  simply  pretexts  for  plundering 
excursions,  and  all  the  events  of  that  internecine  warfare 
were   coloured   by  something  of  the  savage  ferocity 


The  Ambuscade  19 

peculiar  to  the  disposition  of  the  race.  When  the 
real  supporters  of  the  Monarchy  came  in  search  of 
recruits  among  this  ignorant  and  combative  population, 
they  tried,  and  tried  in  vain,  when  they  ranged  the 
Chouans  under  the  white  flag,  to  infuse  some  larger 
ideas  into  the  enterprises  which  had  made  Chouannerie 
detested.  The  Chouans  remained  a  memorable  instance 
of  the  dangers  incurred  by  stirring  up  the  masses  of  a 
half-civilised  country. 

The  scene  that  the  first  Breton  valley  offers  to  the 
traveller's  eyes,  the  picture  that  has  been  given  of  the  men 
who  composed  the  detachment  of  requisitionaries,  the 
description  of  the  gars  who  appeared  on  the  summit  of 
the  Pelerine,  would  give  altogether  an  accurate  idea  of  the 
province  and  of  those  who  dwelt  in  it.  From  those  details 
an  expert  imagination  could  construct  the  theatre  and  the 
machinery  of  war  ;  therein  lay  all  the  elements. 

Concealed  enemies  were  lurking  behind  those  hedges, 
with  the  autumn  flowers  in  them,  in  every  lovely  valley. 
Every  field  was  a  fortress,  every  tree  was  a  snare  in 
disguise,  not  an  old  hollow  willow  trunk  but  concealed  a 
stratagem.  The  field  of  battle  lay  in  all  directions. 
At  every  corner  of  the  road  muskets  were  lying  in  wait 
for  the  Blues ;  young  girls,  smiling  as  they  went,  would 
think  it  no  treachery  to  lure  them  under  the  fire  of 
cannon,  and  go  afterwards  with  their  fathers  and  brothers 
on  pilgrimage  to  ask  for  absolution,  and  to  pray  to  be 
inspired  with  fresh  deceits,  at  the  shrine  of  some  carved 
and  gilded  Virgin.  The  religion,  or  rather  the  fetichism, 
of  these  ignorant  folk  had  deprived  murder  of  all  sense  of 
remorse. 

So  it  befell  that  when  the  struggle  had  once  begun, 
there  was  danger  everywhere  throughout  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  country ;  in  sound  as  in  silence,  in  pardon 
or  in  terror,  and  by  the  fireside  just  as  much  as  on  the 
high  road.  They  were  conscientiously  treacherous, 
these  savages  who  were  serving  God  and  the  King  by 


20 


The  Chouans 


making  war  like  Mohicans.  Yet  if  the  historian  is  to 
give  a  true  and  faithful  picture  of  the  struggle,  in  every 
particular,  he  ought  to  add  that  as  soon  as  Hoche's 
treaty  was  signed  the  whole  country  became  blithe  and 
friendly  at  once.  Families  who  had  been  ready  to  fly  at 
each  other's  throats  the  day  before,  supped  without  danger 
under  the  same  roof. 

The  moment  that  Hulot  became  aware  of  the 
treacherous  secrets  revealed  by  Marche-a-Terre's  goat- 
skin apparel,  his  conviction  was  confirmed;  the  auspicious 
peace  inaugurated  through  Hoche's  ability  was  now  at  an 
end  ;  its  longer  duration  indeed  seemed  to  him  impossible. 
It  was  in  this  manner  that  war  broke  out  again,  after  three 
years  of  inaction,  and  in  a  more  formidable  guise  than 
hitherto.  Perhaps  the  temper  of  the  Revolution,  which 
had  grown  milder  since  the  Ninth  of  Thermidor,  was 
about  to  revert  to  the  ferocity  which  had  made  it  hateful 
to  every  rightly  constituted  mind.  English  gold,  as 
usual,  contributed  to  bring  about  discord  in  France.  If 
the  Republic  were  abandoned  by  the  young  Bonaparte, 
who  seemed  to  be  its  tutelary  genius,  it  seemed  as  if  it 
would  be  utterly  unable  to  make  a  stand  against  so  many 
foes,  and  the  last  to  appear  were  the  bitterest  among 
them.  Civil  war,  heralded  by  numberless  risings  of  little 
importance,  assumed  a  gravity  before  unknown,  from  the 
moment  that  Chouans  conceived  the  idea  of  attacking 
so  strong  an  escort.  This,  in  a  concise  form,  was  the 
substance  of  Hulot's  reflections,  when  he  believed  that 
in  Marche-a-Terre's  sudden  appearance  he  saw  the  signs 
of  a  skilfully  prepared  trap.  And  he  alone,  for  no  one 
else  was  in  the  secret  of  the  danger. 

The  pause  which  ensued  after  the  commandant's  pro- 
phetic remark  to  Gerard,  and  which  put  an  end  to  the 
previous  scene,  sufficed  for  Hulot  to  regain  his  composure. 
The  veteran's  brain  had  almost  reeled  ;  he  could  not  shake 
off  the  gloom  which  covered  his  brow  as  he  thought  that 
he  was  even  then  surrounded  by  the  horrors  of  a  warfare 


The  Ambuscade 


2! 


marked  by  atrocities  from  which,  perhaps,  even  cannibals 
would  shrink.  His  captain,  Merle,  and  the  adjutant 
Gerard,  both  of  them  friends  of  his,  tried  to  understand 
the  terror,  quite  new  in  their  experience,  of  which  their 
leader's  face  gave  evidence  ;  then  they  looked  at  Marche-a 
Terre,  who  was  eating  his  bannock,  and  could  not  discern 
the  remotest  connection  between  the  brave  commandant's 
uneasiness  and  this  sort  of  animal  at  the  roadside. 

Hulot's  face  soon  cleared,  however. 

While  he  deplored  the  calamities  that  had  befallen  the 
Republic,  he  was  glad  at  heart  that  he  was  to  fight  for 
her ;  he  vowed  gaily  to  himself  that  he  would  not  be 
gulled  by  the  Chouans,  and  that  he  would  read  this  dark 
intriguing  nature  that  they  had  done  him  the  honour  to 
send  against  him.  Before  making  any  decision  he  began 
to  study  the  place  in  which  his  enemies  wished  to  take 
him  at  a  disadvantage.  His  thick  black  eyebrows  con- 
tracted in  a  heavy  frown  as  he  saw  from  the  middle  of  the 
road  where  he  stood  that  their  way  lay  through  a  sort  of 
ravine,  of  no  great  depth  it  is  true,  but  with  woods  on 
either  side,  and  many  footpaths  through  them.  He  spoke 
to  his  two  comrades  in  a  low  and  very  uncertain  voice — 

6  We  are  in  a  nice  hornet's  nest ! ' 

'What  is  it  that  you  are  afraid  of?* 

c  Afraid  ? '  answered  the  commandant.  c  Yes,  afraid. 
I  have  always  been  afraid  of  being  shot  like  a  dog  at  some 
bend  in  a  wood,  without  so  much  as  a  "  Who  goes 
there  ? " » 

c  Bah,'  chuckled  Merle,  c  even  a  "  Who  goes  there  ? 99 
is  also  a  deception.' 

c  We  really  are  in  danger  then  ? '  asked  Gerard,  as 
much  amazed  now  at  Hulot's  coolness  as  he  had  been 
before  at  his  brief  spasm  of  fear. 

c  Hush  ! '  said  the  commandant ;  c  we  are  in  the  wolf's 
den  ;  it  is  as  dark  as  in  an  oven  in  there,  and  we  must 
strike  a  light.  It  is  lucky,'  he  went  on, c  that  we  occupy 
the  highest  ground  on  this  side.'     He  added  a  vigorous 


22 


The  Chouans 


epithet  by  way  of  ornament,  and  went  on,  'Perhaps 
I  shall  end  by  understanding  it  clearly  enough  down 
there.' 

The  commandant  beckoned  the  two  officers,  and  they 
made  a  ring  round  Marche-a-Terre ;  the  gars  pretended 
to  think  that  he  was  in  the  way,  and  got  up  promptly. 

c  Stop  where  you  are,  vagabond  ! '  cried  Hulot,  giving 
him  a  push  so  that  he  went  down  again  on  to  the  slope 
where  he  had  been  sitting.  From  that  moment  the  chief 
of  demi-brigade  never  took  his  eyes  off  the  impassive 
Breton. 

1  It  is  time  to  let  you  know,  my  friends,'  said  Hulot, 
addressing  the  two  officers  in  low  tones,  c  that  they  have 
shut  up  shop  down  there.  A  mighty  rummaging  has 
been  set  up  in  the  Assemblies,  and  the  Directory  in 
consequence  has  sent  a  few  strokes  of  the  broom  our  way. 
Those  Pentarchs  of  Directors — call  them  Pantaloons,  it  is 
better  French — have  just  lost  a  good  sword  ;  Bernadotte 
has  had  enough  of  it.' 

c  Who  suceeeds  him  ?  '  asked  Gerard  eagerly. 

'  Milet-Mureau,  an  old  pedant.  They  have  pitched 
on  an  awkward  time  for  setting  numskulls  to  pilot  us. 
There  are  English  rockets  going  up  on  the  coasts  :  these 
cockchafers  of  Vendeans  and  Chouans  about :  and  the 
fellows  at  the  back  of  those  marionettes  yonder  have 
cleverly  selected  the  moment  when  we  are  about  to 
succumb.' 

c  What  ? 9  asked  Merle. 

c  Our  armies  are  beaten  back  at  every  point,'  said 
Hulot,  lowering  his  voice  more  and  more.  'The 
Chouans  have  intercepted  our  couriers  twice  already ;  my 
own  despatches  and  the  last  decrees  issued  only  reached 
me  by  a  special  express  that  Bernadotte  sent  just  as  he 
resigned  his  place  in  the  ministry.  Personal  friends, 
fortunately,  have  written  to  me  about  this  crisis.  Fouche 
has  found  out  that  traitors  in  Paris  have  advised  the  tyrant 
Louis  xvm.  to  send  a  leader  to  his  dupes  in  the  interior. 


The  Ambuscade 


*3 


Some  think  that  B arras  is  a  traitor  to  the  Republic.  In 
short,  Pitt  and  the  princes  have  sent  a  ci-devant  over 
here ;  a  strong  man  and  a  capable  leader,  he  intends,  by 
combining  the  efforts  of  Vendeans  and  Chouans,  to  teach 
the  Republic  to  respect  them.  The  fellow  has  landed  in 
Morbihan  5  I  knew  it  before  any  one  else,  and  I  advised 
those  rascals  in  Paris  of  his  arrival.  The  Gars  he  has 
chosen  to  call  himself.  All  those  animals,'  and  he  pointed 
to  March  e-a-Terre,  c  fit  themselves  up  with  names  that 
would  give  any  honest  patriot  the  colic  if  you  called  him 
by  them.  But  our  man  is  here  in  this  country,  and  the 
appearance  of  that  Chouan  yonder,'  again  he  pointed  to 
March  e-a-Terre,  'tells  me  that  he  is  close  upon  us. 
But  there  is  no  need  to  teach  grimaces  to  an  old  monkey, 
and  you  will  help  me  now  to  cage  my  linnets,  and  in 
less  than  no  time.  A  pretty  idiot  I  should  be  to  let 
myself  be  snared  like  a  bird,  and  that  by  a  ci-devant  from 
London,  come  over  here  pretending  that  he  wants  to 
dust  our  jackets.' 

Thus  informed  in  confidence  of  the  critical  state  of 
affairs,  the  two  officers,  who  knew  that  their  commandant 
never  alarmed  himself  without  good  reason,  assumed  that 
gravity  of  expression  common  to  soldiers  in  pressing 
danger,  who  have  been  thoroughly  tempered  and  have 
some  insight  into  the  ways  of  mankind.  Gerard,  whose 
rank,  since  suppressed,  brought  him  into  close  contact 
with  his  commandant,  made  up  his  mind  to  reply,  and  to 
ask  for  the  rest  of  the  political  news  which  had  evidently 
been  passed  over;  but  a  sign  from  Hulot  kept  him  silent, 
and  all  three  of  them  fell  to  scrutinizing  Marche-a-Terre. 

The  Chouan  showed  not  the  least  sign  of  agitation  at 
finding  himself  watched  in  this  way  by  men  as  formidable 
intellectually  as  they  were  physically.  This  sort  of 
warfare  was  a  novelty  to  the  two  officers  ;  their  curiosity 
was  keenly  excited  by  the  opening  event,  and  the  whole 
matter  seemed  to  be  invested  with  an  almost  romantic 
interest.   They  were  inclined  to  joke  about  it ;  but  at  the 


*4 


The  Chouans 


first  word  which  they  let  fall,  Hulot  looked  at  them 
sternly  and  said — 

1  Tonnerre  de  Dieu^  citizens  !  don't  smoke  your  pipes 
over  a  barrel  of  powder.  You  might  as  well  amuse  your- 
selves with  carrying  water  in  a  basket,  as  by  showing 
courage  where  it  isn't  wanted.  Gerard,'  he  continued, 
leaning  over,  and  whispering  in  the  adjutant's  ear,  4  get 
nearer  to  the  brigand  bit  by  bit,  and  if  he  makes  the  least 
suspicious  movement,  run  him  through  the  body  at  once. 
And  I  myself  will  take  measures  for  keeping  up  the 
conversation  if  our  unknown  friends  really  have  a  mind 
to  begin  it.' 

Gerard  bent  his  head  slightly  in  obedience.  Then  he 
began  to  look  round  at  different  points  in  the  landscape 
of  the  valley,  with  which  the  reader  has  had  an  opportunity 
of  making  himself  familiar.  He  appeared  to  wish  to 
study  them  more  closely,  stepping  back  upon  himself,  so 
to  speak,  quite  naturally ;  but  the  landscape,  it  will  well 
be  believed,  was  the  last  thing  he  had  in  view.  Marche- 
a-Terre,  on  the  other  hand,  took  no  heed  whatever  of 
the  officer's  manoeuvres.  One  might  have  supposed  that 
he  was  fishing  in  the  ditch  with  a  rod  and  line,  from  the 
way  he  played  with  his  whip  handle. 

While  Gerard  was  trying  in  this  way  to  take  up  his 
position  by  the  Chouan,  the  commandant  spoke  in  a  low 
voice  to  Merle. 

4  Take  ten  picked  men  and  a  sergeant,  and  post  them 
yourself  up  above  us,  just  on  that  part  of  the  summit  on 
this  side  where  the  road  widens  and  makes  a  kind  of 
plateau  ;  you  could  see  a  good  long  stretch  of  the  road  to 
Ernee  from  the  place.  Pick  out  a  spot  where  there  are 
no  woods  on  either  side  of  the  road,  so  that  the  sergeant 
can  keep  a  look-out  over  the  country  round.  Take  Clef- 
des-Cceurs  ;  he  has  his  wits  about  him.  This  is  no 
laughing  matter  at  all ;  I  would  not  give  a  penny  for  our 
skins  if  we  don't  take  every  advantage  we  can  get.' 

Captain  Merle  understood  the  importance  of  prompt 


The  Ambuscade 


action,  and  the  manoeuvre  was  executed  at  once.  Then 
the  commandant  waved  his  right  hand,  demanding 
absolute  silence  from  his  men,  who  stood  round  about 
amusing  themselves  with  chat.  He  signed  to  them  afresh 
to  shoulder  arms,  and  as  soon  as  everything  was  quiet 
again,  his  eyes  travelled  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the 
other ;  he  seemed  in  hope  to  detect  muffled  sounds  of 
weapons  or  of  footsteps,  preliminaries  of  the  looked-for 
struggle,  and  to  be  listening  anxiously  for  them.  His 
keen  black  eyes  appeared  to  penetrate  the  very  depths  of 
the  woods  in  a  marvellous  way.  No  sign  was  forth- 
coming. He  consulted  the  sand  on  the  road,  as  savages 
do,  trying  every  means  by  which  he  could  discover  the 
invisible  foes,  whose  audacity  was  known  to  him. 

In  despair  at  finding  nothing  which  justified  his  fears, 
he  went  towards  the  side  of  the  road,  climbed  with 
some  difficulty  up  the  bank,  and  went  deliberately  along 
the  top  of  it.  Suddenly  he  felt  how  largely  his  own 
experience  conduced  to  the  safety  of  his  detachment,  and 
he  came  down  again.  His  face  grew  darker,  for  leaders 
in  those  days  were  wont  to  regret  that  they  could  not 
reserve  the  most  dangerous  missions  for  themselves  alone. 
The  other  officers  and  the  men  noticed  their  leader's 
preoccupied  mood.  They  liked  him.  The  courage  of 
his  character  was  recognised  among  them  ;  so  they  knew 
that  this  exceeding  caution  on  his  part  meant  that  danger 
was  at  hand.  How  serious  it  was  they  could  not  pos- 
sibly suspect ;  so,  though  they  remained  motionless  and 
scarcely  drew  their  breath,  it  was  done  intuitively.  The 
soldiers  looked  by  turns  along  the  valley  of  the  Couesnon, 
at  the  woods  along  the  road,  and  at  their  commandant's 
stern  face,  trying  to  gather  what  their  fate  was  to  be, 
much  as  the  dogs  try  to  guess  what  the  experienced 
sportsman  means  who  gives  them  some  order  which  they 
cannot  understand.  They  looked  at  each  other's  eyes, 
and  a  smile  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

As  Hulot  made  his  peculiar  grimace*  Beau-Pied,  a 

; 


26 


The  Chouans 


young  sergeant,  who  was  regarded  as  the  wit  of  the 
company,  said  in  a  low  voice — 

c  What  the  devil  have  we  run  ourselves  into  to  make 
that  old  dragoon  of  a  Hulot  turn  such  a  muddy  face  on 
us  ?    He  looks  like  a  whole  council  of  war/ 

Hulot  flung  a  stern  glance  at  Beau-Pied,  and  forthwith 
there  was  a  sudden  accession  of  the  silence  required  of 
men  under  arms.  In  the  middle  of  this  awful  pause  the 
lagging  footsteps  of  the  conscripts  were  heard.  The 
gravel  under  their  feet  gave  out  a  dull  monotonous  sound 
that  added  a  vague  disagreeable  feeling  to  the  general 
anxiety,  an  indescribable  feeling  that  can  only  be  under- 
stood by  those  who,  in  the  silence  of  night,  have  been 
victims  of  a  terrible  suspense,  and  have  felt  their  hearts 
beat  heavily  with  redoubled  quickness  at  some  monotonous 
recurring  noise  which  has  seemed  to  pour  terror  through 
them  drop  by  drop.  The  commandant  reached  the 
middle  of  the  road  again.  He  was  beginning  to  ask  him- 
self, 'Am  I  deceived?'  -His  rage  concentrated  itself  j 
already  upon  Marche-a-Terre  and  his  stolid  tranquillity ; 
it  flashed  in  his  eyes  like  lightning  as  he  looked  at  him  ; 
but  he  discerned  a  savage  irony  in  the  Chouan's  sullen 
gaze  that  convinced  him  that  it  would  be  better  not  to 
discontinue  his  precautionary  measures.  His  captain, 
Merle,  came  up  to  him  just  then,  after  having  executed 
Hulot's  orders.  The  mute  actors  in  this  scene,  which 
was  like  so  many  another  that  was  to  make  this  war  one 
of  the  most  dramatic  ever  known,  were  looking  out 
impatiently  for  new  sensations,  curious  to  see  any  fresh 
manoeuvres  that  should  throw  a  light  on  obscure  points 
of  the  military  position,  for  their  benefit. 

'Captain,'  said  the  commandant,  £we  did  well  to  put 
the  small  number  of  patriots  that  we  can  depend  upon 
among  the  requisitionaries  at  the  rear  of  the  detachment. 
Take  another  dozen  of  stout  fellows  and  put  Sub- 
lieutenant Lebrun  at  the  head  of  them  ;  take  them  down 
quickly  yourself  to  the  rear  of  the  detachment ;  they  will 


The  Ambuscade 


*7 


support  the  patriots  down  there,  and  they  will  make  the 
whole  troop  of  rascals  move  on,  and  quickly  too,  and 
bring  them  up  to  the  level  of  our  own  men  in  no  time. 
I  am  waiting  for  you.' 

The  captain  disappeared  among  the  troop.  The  com- 
mandant looked  out  four  resolute  men,  whom  he  knew 
to  be  alert  and  active,  and  called  them  by  a  gesture  only  ; 
he  tapped  his  nose  with  his  forefinger,  and  then  pointed 
to  each  in  turn  by  way  of  a  friendly  sign.  The  four 
approached  him.  c  You  served  with  me  under  Hoche,' 
said  he,  c  when  we  gave  these  scoundrels  who  call  them- 
selves Chasseurs  du  Roi  a  lesson,  and  you  know  their  ways 
of  hiding  themselves  so  as  to  pepper  the  Blues  ! 9 

All  four  soldiers  held  up  their  heads  and  pressed  their 
lips  together  significantly  at  this  praise  of  their  quick- 
wittedness.  There  was  a  reckless  acquiescence  in  the 
soldierly  heroic  faces  which  showed  that  since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  struggle  between  France  and  Europe,  their 
thoughts  had  scarcely  strayed  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
cartridge  pouch  at  their  backs  and  the  bayonet  they 
carried  in  front.  They  stood  with  pursed-up  mouths, 
looking  curiously  and  attentively  at  the  commandant. 

'Very  well,'  went  on  Hulot,  who  in  an  eminent 
degree  possessed  the  art  of  speaking  in  the  soldier's  pic- 
turesque language,  'stout  fellows,  such  as  we  are,  must 
never  allow  the  Chouans  to  make  fools  of  us ;  and  there 
are  Chouans  about,  or  my  name  is  not  Hulot.  Be  off,  the 
four  of  you,  and  beat  up  either  side  of  the  road.  The 
detachment  is  going  to  slip  its  cable  ;  keep  well  alongside 
of  it.  Try  not  to  hand  in  your  checks,  and  clear  up  this 
business  for  me.    Sharp ! ' 

He  pointed  out  the  dangerous  heights  above  the  road. 
By  way  of  thanks,  all  four  raised  the  backs  of  their  hands 
before  their  old  cocked  hats;  the  turned-up  brims,  weather- 
beaten  now  and  limp  with  age,  had  fallen  over  the  crowns. 
One  of  them,  Larose  by  name,  a  corporal  that  Hulot  knew, 
said  as  he  made  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  ring  on  the  ground — 


28 


The  Chouans 


c  They  shall  have  a  solo  on  the  clarionette,  com- 
mandant.' 

They  set  out,  two  of  them  to  the  right,  and  the  others 
to  the  left.  It  was  not  without  an  inward  tremor  that  the 
company  saw  them  disappear  on  either  side  of  the  way. 
The  commandant  shared  in  this  anxiety;  he  believed 
that  he  had  sent  them  to  a  certain  death.  He  shuddered 
in  spite  of  himself  when  he  saw  their  hats  no  longer,  and 
both  officers  and  men  heard  the  sound  of  their  footsteps 
on  the  dead  leaves  gradually  dying  away  with  a  feeling 
all  the  more  acutely  painful  for  being  hidden  so  far 
beneath  the  surface.  In  war  there  are  scenes  like  these, 
when  four  men  sent  into  jeopardy  cause  more  consterna- 
tion than  the  thousands  of  corpses  stretched  upon  the  field 
at  Jemappes.  So  many  and  so  fleeting  are  the  expres- 
sions of  the  military  physiognomy,  that  those  who  would 
fain  depict  them  are  obliged  to  call  up  memories  of 
soldiers  in  the  past,  and  to  leave  it  to  non-combatants  to 
study  their  dramatic  figures,  for  these  stormy  times  were 
so  rich  in  detail  that  any  complete  description  of  them 
could  only  be  made  at  interminable  length. 

Just  as  the  gleam  of  the  bayonets  of  the  four  soldiers 
was  no  longer  visible,  Captain  Merle  came  back  after 
executing  the  commandant's  orders  with  lightning  speed. 
With  two  or  three  words  of  command  Hulot  set  the  rest 
of  his  troop  in  order  of  battle  in  the  middle  of  the  road ; 
then  he  gave  the  word  to  regain  the  summit  of  the  Pelerine, 
where  his  little  advance  guard  was  posted,  and  he  him- 
self followed  last  of  all,  walking  backwards,  so  that  he 
might  see  the  slightest  change  that  should  come  over 
any  of  the  principal  points  in  that  view  which  nature  had 
made  so  enchanting,  and  man,  so  full  of  terrors. 

Marche-a-Terre  had  followed  all  the  commandant's 
manoeuvres  with  indifferent  eyes,  but  he  had  watched 
the  two  soldiers  as  they  penetrated  the  woods  that  lay 
to  the  right  with  incredible  keenness ;  and  now,  as 
Hulot  reached  the  spot  where  Gerard  stood  on  guard 


The  Ambuscade 


29 


over  him,  Marche-a-Terre  began  to  whistle  two  or  three 
times  in  a  way  that  imitated  the  shrill,  far-reaching 
cry  of  the  screech-owl. 

The  three  notorious  smugglers  whose  names  have  been 
already  mentioned  used  to  employ  some  of  the  notes  of 
that  cry  at  night  to  give  warning  of  an  ambush,  of 
danger,  or  of  anything  else  that  concerned  them.  In  this 
way  the  nickname  Chuin  arose,  which,  in  the  dialect  of 
the  country,  means  an  owl,  or  screech-owl.  A  corruption 
of  the  word  served  to  designate  those  who  in  the  previous 
war  had  adopted  the  tactics  and  signals  of  the  three 
brothers,  so  that  when  he  heard  the  suspicious  whistle 
the  commandant  stopped  and  fixed  his  gaze  on  Marche-a- 
Terre.  He  affected  to  be  deceived  by  the  Chouan's 
appearance  of  imbecility,  that  he  might  keep  him  at  his 
side  as  a  kind  of  barometer  to  indicate  the  enemy's  move- 
ments. So  he  caught  Gerard's  hand  as  it  was  raised  to 
dispatch  the  Chouan,  and  posted  two  soldiers  a  few  paces 
away  from  the  spy,  ordering  them  in  loud  and  distinct  tones 
to  be  ready  to  shoot  him  down  if  he  attempted  to  make 
the  slightest  signal  of  any  kind.  In  spite  of  his  imminent 
peril,  Marche-a-Terre  showed  no  sort  of  perturbation,  and 
the  commandant,  who  was  studying  him,  noticed  this 
indifference. 

6  The  chap  isn't  up  to  everything,5  he  said  to  Gerard. 
1  Aha  !  it  is  not  so  easy  to  read  a  Chouan's  face ;  but 
this  fellow's  wish  to  exhibit  his  intrepidity  has  betrayed 
him.  If  he  had  shammed  fright,  Gerard,  I  should  have 
taken  him  for  a  nincompoop,  you  see ;  and  there  would 
have  been  a  pair  of  us,  he  and  I.  I  had  come  to  the  end 
of  my  tether.  Ah,  we  shall  be  attacked !  But  let 
them  come  \  I  am  ready  now  ! ' 

The  old  soldier  rubbed  his  hands  triumphantly  when 
he  had  muttered  these  words,  and  looked  maliciously  at 
Marche-a-Terre  ;  then  he  locked  his  arms  over  his  chest, 
took  his  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  road  between  his  two 
favourite  officers,  and  awaited  the  result  of  the  measures 


The  Chouans 


he  had  taken.  Sure  of  the  issue,  he  looked  his  men  over 
calmly. 

4  Oho !  we  are  going  to  have  a  row/  said  Beau-Pied 
in  a  low  voice ;  4  the  commandant  is  rubbing  his  hands.' 

Commandant  Hulot  and  his  detachment  found  them- 
selves in  one  of  those  critical  positions  where  life  is 
really  at  stake,  and  when  men  of  energetic  character  feel 
themselves  in  honour  bound  to  show  coolness  and  self- 
possession.  Such  times  bring  a  man  to  the  final  test. 
The  commandant,  therefore,  who  knew  the  danger 
better  than  any  of  his  officers,  prided  himself  on  appear- 
ing the  coolest  person  present.  With  his  eyes  fixed 
alternately  on  the  woods,  the  roadway,  and  March  e-a- 
Terre,  he  was  expecting  the  general  onslaught  of  the 
Chouans  (who,  as  he  believed,  lay  concealed  all  about 
them  like  goblins),  with  an  unmoved  face,  but  not  without 
inward  anguish.  Just  as  the  men's  eyes  were  all  turned 
upon  his,  slight  creases  appeared  in  the  brown  cheeks 
with  the  scars  of  smallpox  upon  them,  the  commandant 
screwed  his  lip  sharply  up  to  one  side,  blinked  his  eyes, 
a  grimace  which  was  understood  to  be  a  smile  by  his 
men,  then  he  clapped  Gerard  on  the  shoulder,  saying — 

4  Now  we  have  time  to  talk.  What  were  you  going 
to  say  to  me  just  now  ? ' 

4  What  new  crisis  have  we  here,  commandant  ? ' 

4  It  is  nothing  new,'  he  answered  in  a  low  voice ; 
call  Europe  has  a  chance  against  us  this  time.  Whilst  the 
Directors  are  squabbling  among  themselves  like  horses  left 
in  the  stable  without  any  oats,  and  are  letting  the  govern- 
ment go  all  to  pieces,  they  leave  their  armies  unsupported. 
We  are  utterly  ruined  in  Italy.  Yes,  my  friends,  we 
have  evacuated  Mantua  on  the  top  of  the  disasters  at  la 
Trebbia,  and  Joubert  has  just  lost  the  battle  of  Novi.  I 
only  hope  Massena  will  guard  the  Swiss  passes,  for 
Suwarroff  is  overrunning  the  country.  We  are  beaten 
along  the  Rhine.  Moreau  has  been  sent  out  there  by 
the  Directory.    He  is  a  fine  fellow,  but  is  he  going  to 


The  Ambuscade 


keep  the  frontier  ?  I  wish  he  may,  I  am  sure ;  but  the 
coalition  will  crush  us  altogether  at  last,  and  unluckily 
the  one  general  who  could  save  us  has  gone  to  the  devil 
down  there  in  Egypt !  And  how  is  he  to  get  back 
moreover  ?    England  is  mistress  of  the  seas.' 

c  Bonaparte's  absence  does  not  trouble  me,  command- 
ant/ said  Gerard,  his  young  adjutant,  whose  superior 
faculties  had  been  developed  by  a  careful  education.  c  Is 
our  Revolution  to  end  like  that  ?  We  are  bound  to  do 
more  than  merely  defend  the  soil  of  France ;  ours  is  a 
double  mission.  Ought  we  not  to  keep  alive  the  very  soul 
of  our  country,  the  generous  principles  of  liberty  and 
independence,  that  human  reason  evoked  by  our  Assem- 
blies, which  is  winning  its  way,  I  hope,  little  by  little  ? 
France  is  like  a  traveller  with  a  light  in  her  keeping ; 
she  must  carry  it  in  one  hand  and  defend  herself  with 
the  other;  if  your  news  is  well  founded,  for  these  ten 
years  past  we  have  never  been  surrounded  by  so  many 
who  would  seek  to  blow  it  out.  Our  doctrines  and  our 
country,  all  alike  are  about  to  perish.' 

1  Alas,  yes  ! '  sighed  the  commandant  Hulot.  c  Those 
mountebanks  of  Directors  have  managed  to  quarrel  with 
all  the  men  who  could  have  steered  the  vessel — Berna- 
dotte,  Carnot,  and  every  one  else  down  to  citizen  Talleyrand 
has  abandoned  us.  There  is  only  one  good  patriot  left 
in  fact,  our  friend  Fouche,  who  has  everything  in  his 
hands  by  police  supervision.  There  is  a  man  for  you ! 
He  it  was,  too,  who  gave  me  warning  in  time  of  this 
insurrection.  For  all  that,  here  we  are  in  some  pitfall  or 
other,  I  am  positive.' 

cOh,  if  the  army  did  not  interfere  a  little  in  the 
government,'  said  Gerard,  4  the  lawyers  would  put  us 
back  in  a  worse  position  than  we  were  in  before  the 
Revolution.  Do  those  wretches  understand  how  to 
make  themselves  obeyed  ? ' 

4 1  am  always  in  fear  that  I  shall  hear  of  their  treating 
with  the  Bourbon  princes.     Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !    If  they 


32  The  Chouans 

came  to  an  understanding,  what  a  fix  some  of  the  rest 
of  us  would  be  in  out  here/ 

c  No,  no,  commandant ;  we  shall  not  come  to  that,' 
said  Gerard.  4  As  you  say,  the  army  would  make  its 
voice  heard ;  and  so  that  the  army  does  not  pick  its  words 
out  of  Pichegru's  dictionary,  we  shall  not  have  been 
cutting  ourselves  to  pieces  for  ten  years,  I  hope,  over 
carding  the  flax  for  others  to  spin.' 

'Well/  said  Captain  Merle,  Met  us  always  conduct 
ourselves  here  like  good  patriots,  and  try  to  cut  off  the 
Chouan  communications  with  la  Vendee ;  for  if  once  they 
hear  that  England  has  a  finger  in  the  matter,  I  would  not 
answer  for  the  cap  of  our  Republic,  one  and  indivisible.' 

Just  then  the  cry  of  a  screech-owl,  heard  from  some 
considerable  distance,  interrupted  the  conversation.  Still 
more  uneasily  the  commandant  again  furtively  scrutinised 
Marche-a-Terre ;  there  was  no  sign  of  animation,  so  to 
speak,  in  his  stolid  face.  The  recruits,  drawn  up  to- 
gether by  one  of  the  officers,  were  mustered  like  a  herd 
of  cattle  in  the  crown  of  the  road,  some  thirty  paces  from 
the  troops  in  order  of  battle.  Behind  them  again,  at  the 
distance  of  some  ten  paces,  came  the  soldiers  and  patriots 
commanded  by  Lieutenant  Lebrun.  The  commandant 
ran  his  eyes  over  this  array,  and  gave  a  last  glance  at  the 
picket  posted  in  advance  up  the  road.  Satisfied  with  this 
disposition  of  his  forces,  he  turned  to  give  the  order  to 
march,  when  he  saw  the  tricolour  cockades  of  two  of  his 
scouts  returning  from  the  search  of  the  woods  that  lay 
on  the  left.  As  he  saw  no  sign  whatever  of  the  two  sent 
to  reconnoitre  the  right-hand  woods,  the  commandant 
determined  to  wait  for  them. 

6  Perhaps  the  trouble  is  coming  from  that  quarter,'  he 
remarked  to  his  two  officers  as  he  pointed  out  the  woods 
which  seemed  to  have  swallowed  up  his  two  enfants 
perdus. 

While  the  two  scouts  were  making  some  sort  of  report, 
Hulot  ceased  to  watch  Marche-a-Terre.    The  Chouan 


The  Ambuscade 


33 


began  again  to  give  a  sharp  whistle,  a  cry  so  shrill  that  it 
could  be  heard  a  long  way  off ;  and  then,  before  either 
of  his  guards  so  much  as  saw  what  he  was  after,  he 
dealt  them  each  a  blow  from  his  whip -handle  that 
stretched  them  on  the  roadside.  All  at  once  answering 
cries,  or  rather  savage  yells,  startled  the  Republicans. 
A  terrible  fire  was  opened  upon  them  from  the  wood  that 
crowned  the  slope  where  the  Chouan  had  been  sitting, 
and  seven  or  eight  of  their  men  fell.  Five  or  six  soldiers 
had  taken  aim  at  Marche-a-Terre,  but  none  of  them  hit 
him.  He  had  climbed  the  slope  with  the  agility  of  a  wild 
cat  and  disappeared  in  the  woods  above.  His  sabots 
rolled  down  into  the  ditch,  and  it  was  easy  then  to  see 
upon  his  feet  the  great  iron-bound  shoes  which  were  always 
worn  by  the  Chasseurs  du  Roi.  At  the  first  alarm  given 
by  the  Chouans,  all  the  recruits  had  made  a  dash  for  it 
into  the  woods  on  the  right,  like  a  flock  of  birds  scared 
by  the  approach  of  a  passer-by. 

c  Fire  on  those  rascals  ! 9  roared  the  commandant. 

The  company  fired,  but  the  recruits  were  well  able  to 
screen  themselves  from  the  musket-shots.  Every  man 
set  his  back  against  a  tree,  and  before  the  muskets  had 
been  reloaded,  they  were  all  out  of  sight. 

c  Issue  warrants  for  a  Departmental  Legion,  eh  ? 9 
Hulot  said  to  Gerard.  c  One  would  have  to  be  as  big  a 
fool  as  a  Director  to  put  any  dependence  on  a  requisition 
from  this  district.  The  Assemblies  would  show  more 
sense  if  they  would  send  us  clothing,  and  money,  and 
ammunition,  and  give  up  voting  reinforcements.' 

c  These  swine  like  their  bannocks  better  than  ammuni- 
tion bread,'  said  Beau-Pied,  the  wag  of  the  company. 

At  his  words,  hooting  and  yells  of  derisive  laughtei 
went  up  from  the  Republican  troops,  crying  shame  on  the 
deserters,  but  a  sudden  silence  followed  all  at  once.  The 
soldiers  saw  the  two  scouts  who  had  been  sent  by  the 
commandant  to  search  the  woods  on  the  right,  painfully 
toiling  down  the  slope,  the  less  injured  man  supporting 

c 


34 


The  Chouans 


his  comrade,  whose  blood  drenched  the  earth.  The  two 
poor  fellows  had  scarcely  reached  the  middle  of  the  bank 
when  Marche-a-Terre  showed  his  hideous  face.  His  aim 
was  so  certain  that,  with  one  shot,  he  hit  them  both,  and 
they  rolled  heavily  down  into  the  ditch.  His  huge  head 
had  barely  shown  itself  before  the  muzzles  of  some  thirty 
muskets  were  levelled  at  him  ;  but  he  had  disappeared 
like  a  phantom  behind  the  ominous  gorse  bushes.  All 
these  things,  which  it  takes  so  many  words  to  describe, 
came  to  pass  almost  in  a  moment;  and  in  a  moment 
more,  the  patriots  and  soldiers  of  the  rear-guard  came  up 
with  the  rest  of  the  escort. 
*  Forward  ! 1  shouted  Hulot. 

The  company  rapidly  gained  the  high  and  exposed 
position  where  the  picket  had  been  placed.  The  com- 
mandant then  drew  up  his  forces  in  order  of  battle,  but 
he  saw  no  further  hostile  demonstration  on  the  part  of  the 
Chouans,  and  thought  that  the  sole  object  of  the  ambus- 
cade was  the  deliverance  of  his  conscripts. 

c  Their  cries  tell  me  that  they  are  not  in  great  force. 
Let  us  march  double  quick.  We  may  possibly  get  to 
Ernee  before  we  have  them  down  upon  us.' 

A  patriot  conscript  overheard  the  words,  left  the  ranks, 
and  stood  before  Hulot. 

c  General,'  said  he,  c  I  Ve  seen  some  of  this  sort  of 
fighting  before  as  a  Counter-Chouan.  May  I  put  in  a 
word  or  two  ? ' 

4  Here's  one  of  these  barrack-lawyers,'  the  commandant 
muttered  in  Merle's  ears  ;  c  they  always  think  they  are 
on  for  hearing.  Go  on  ;  argue  away,'  he  added  to  the 
young  man  from  Fougeres. 

'Commandant,  the  Chouans  have  brought  arms,  of 
course,  for  those  men  that  they  have  just  recruited.  If 
we  have  to  run  for  it  now,  they  will  be  waiting  for  us  at 
every  turn  in  the  woods,  and  will  pick  us  off  to  a  man 
before  we  can  get  to  Ernee.  We  must  argue,  as  you  say, 
but  it  must  be  with  cartridges ;  then,  during  the  skirmish, 


The  Ambuscade 


35 


which  will  last  longer  than  you  look  for,  one  of  us  could 
go  for  the  National  Guard  and  the  Free  Companies 
stationed  at  Fougeres.  We  may  be  conscripts,  but  you 
shall  see  by  that  time  that  we  are  not  carrion-kites.' 

cThen  you  think  the  Chouans  are  here  in  some 
force !  * 

4  Judge  for  yourself,  citizen-commandant.' 

He  led  Hulot  to  a  spot  on  the  plateau  where  the  sand 
had  been  disturbed,  as  if  a  rake  had  been  over  it  \  and, 
after  calling  Hulot's  attention  to  this,  led  him  some  little 
way  along  a  footpath  where  traces  of  the  passage  of  a 
large  body  of  men  were  distinctly  visible.  Leaves  had 
been  trodden  right  into  the  trampled  earth. 

c  That  will  be  the  gars  from  Vitre,'  said  the  Fougerais ; 
c  they  have  gone  to  join  the  Bas-Normands.7 

c  What  is  your  name,  citizen  ? '  asked  Hulot. 

4  Gudin,  commandant.' 

c  Well,  then,  Gudin,  I  shall  make  you  corporal  of  your 
townsmen  here.  You  are  a  long-headed  fellow,  it  seems 
to  me.  I  leave  it  to  you  to  pick  out  one  of  your 
comrades,  who  must  be  sent  to  Fougeres,  and  you  your- 
self will  keep  close  beside  me.  But,  first,  there  are  these 
two  poor  comrades  of  ours  that  those  brigands  have  laid 
out  on  the  road  there — you  and  some  of  your  conscripts 
can  go  and  take  their  guns,  and  clothes,  and  cartridge- 
boxes.  You  shall  not  stop  here  to  take  shots  without 
returning  them.' 

The  brave  Fougerais  went  to  strip  the  dead,  protected 
by  an  energetic  fire  kept  up  upon  the  woods  by  the  whole 
company.  It  had  its  effect,  for  the  party  returned 
without  losing  a  man. 

c  These  Bretons  will  make  good  soldiers,'  said  Hulot 
to  Gerard,  ( if  their  mess  happens  to  take  their 
fancy.' 

Gudin's  messenger  set  out  at  a  trot  down  a  pathway 
that  turned  off  to  the  left  through  the  woods.  The 
soldiers,  absorbed  in  examining  their  weapons,  prepared  for 


36 


The  Chouans 


the  coming  struggle.  The  commandant  passed  them  in 
review,  smiled  encouragingly,  and,  placing  himself  with 
his  two  favourite  officers  a  step  or  two  in  advance, 
awaited  the  onset  of  the  Chouans  with  composure. 

Silence  prevailed  again,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment. 
Then  three  hundred  Chouans,  dressed  exactly  like  the 
requisitionaries,  issued  from  the  woods  to  the  right. 
They  came  on  in  no  order,  uttering  fearful  cries,  and 
occupied  the  width  of  the  road  before  the  little  battalion  of 
Blues.  The  commandant  divided  his  troops  into  two  equal 
parts,  each  part  presenting  a  front  of  ten  men  to  the  enemy. 
Between  these  divisions,  and  in  the  centre,  he  placed 
himself  at  the  head  of  his  band  of  twelve  hastily  equipped 
conscripts.  The  little  army  was  protected  by  two  wings 
of  twenty-five  men  each,  under  the  command  of  Gerard 
and  Merle.  These  officers  were  to  take  the  Chouans 
adroitly  in  flank,  and  to  prevent  them  from  scattering 
about  the  country — fegailler  they  call  the  movement  in 
the  patois  of  this  district,  when  every  peasant  would  take 
up  his  position  where  he  could  shoot  at  the  Blues  without 
exposing  himself,  and  the  Republican  troops  were  utterly 
at  a  loss  to  know  where  to  have  their  enemies. 

These  arrangements,  made  with  the  rapidity  demanded 
by  the  circumstances,  seemed  to  infuse  the  commandant's 
self-reliance  into  the  men,  and  all  advanced  upon  the 
Chouans  in  silence.  At  the  end  of  the  few  seconds 
needed  for  the  two  bodies  of  men  to  approach  each  other, 
there  was  a  sudden  discharge  at  close  quarters  which 
scattered  death  through  either  rank  ;  but  in  a  moment 
the  Republican  wings  had  wheeled  and  taken  the  Chouans 
in  flank.  These  latter  had  no  means  of  opposing  them, 
and  the  hot,  pertinacious  fire  of  their  enemies  spread 
death  and  disorder  in  their  midst.  This  manoeuvre 
nearly  redressed  the  balance  of  the  numbers  on  either 
side  ;  but  the  courage  and  firmness  of  the  Chouan 
character  was  equal  to  all  tests.  They  did  not  give  way  ; 
their  losses  did  not  shake  them  5  they  closed  their  ranks 


The  Ambuscade 


37 


and  tried  to  surround  the  little,  dark,  compact  lines  of 
Blues,  who  appeared  in  the  narrow  space  they  occupied 
like  a  queen  bee  in  the  midst  of  a  swarm. 

Then  they  engaged  in  one  of  those  horrible  struggles 
at  close  quarters,  when  the  rattle  of  musketry  almost 
ceases,  and  the  click  of  the  bayonets  is  heard  instead,  and 
the  ranks  meet  man  to  man  ;  and,  courage  being  equal  on 
either  side,  the  victory  is  won  by  sheer  force  of  numbers. 
At  first  the  Chouans  would  have  carried  all  before  them 
if  the  two  wings  under  Merle  and  Gerard  had  not 
brought  two  or  three  volleys  to  bear  slantwise  on  the 
enemy's  rear.  By  rights  the  two  wings  should  have 
stayed  where  they  were,  and  continued  to  pick  off  their 
formidable  foes  in  this  adroit  manner ;  but  the  sight  of 
the  heroic  battalion,  now  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  the 
Chasseurs  du  Roi^  excited  them.  They  flung  themselves 
like  madmen  into  the  struggle  on  the  roadway,  bayonet 
in  hand,  and  redressed  the  balance  again  for  a  few 
moments.  Both  sides  gave  themselves  up  to  a  furious 
zeal,  aggravated  by  the  ferocious  cruelty  of  party-spirit 
that  made  this  war  an  exception.  Each  became  absorbed 
by  his  own  peril,  and  was  silent.  The  place  seemed  chill 
and  dark  with  death.  The  only  sounds  that  broke  the 
silence,  and  rose  above  the  clash  of  weapons  and  the 
grating  noise  of  the  gravel  underfoot,  were  the  deep, 
hollow  groans  of  those  who  fell  badly  wounded,  or  of  the 
dying  as  they  lay.  In  the  Republican  centre  the  dozen 
conscripts  defended  the  person  of  the  commandant  (who 
issued  continual  warnings  and  orders  manifold)  with  such 
courage  that  more  than  once  a  soldier  here  and  there  had 
cried,  "  Bravo,  conscripts  !  " 

Hulot,  the  imperturbable  and  wide-awake,  soon  noticed 
among  the  Chouans  a  man,  also  surrounded  by  picked 
troops,  who  appeared  to  be  their  leader.  It  seemed  to 
him  very  needful  to  make  quite  sure  of  this  officer ;  now 
and  again  he  made  efforts  to  distinguish  his  features, 
hidden  by  a  crowd  of  broad  hats  and  red  caps,  and  in  this 


38 


The  Chouans 


way  he  recognised  Marche-a-Terre  beside  the  officer, 
repeating  his  orders  in  a  hoarse  voice,  while  he  kept  his 
carbine  in  constant  use,  Hulot  grew  tired  of  the  repeated 
annoyance.  He  drew  his  sword,  encouraged  his  requisi- 
tionaries,  and  dashed  so  furiously  upon  the  Chouan  centre 
that  he  penetrated  their  ranks  and  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  officer,  whose  face,  unluckily,  was  hidden  by  a  large 
felt  hat  with  a  white  cockade.  But  the  stranger,  taken 
somewhat  aback  by  this  bold  onset,  suddenly  raised  his 
hat.  Hulot  seized  the  opportunity  to  make  a  rapid 
survey  of  his  opponent. 

The  young  chief,  who  seemed  to  Hulot  to  be  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  wore  a  short  green  cloth  shoot- 
ing coat.  The  white  sash  at  his  waist  held  pistols,  the 
heavy  shoes  he  wore  were  bound  with  iron  like  those  of 
the  Chouans ;  gaiters  reaching  to  the  knee,  and  breeches  of 
some  coarse  material,  completed  the  costume.  He  was  of 
middle  height,  but  well  and  gracefully  made.  In  his 
anger  at  seeing  the  Blues  so  near  to  him,  he  thrust  on  his  hat 
again  and  turned  towards  them,  but  Marche-a-Terre  and 
others  of  his  party  surrounded  him  at  once,  in  alarm. 
Still  through  gaps  in  the  crowd  of  faces  that  pressed 
about  the  young  man  and  came  between  them,  Hulot 
felt  sure  he  saw  a  broad  red  riband  on  the  officer's 
unfastened  coat,  that  showed  the  wearer  to  be  a  Knight 
Commander  of  the  Order  of  St.  Louis.  The  com- 
mandant's eyes,  at  first  attracted  by  the  long-forgotten  royal 
decoration,  were  turned  next  upon  a  face,  which  he  lost 
sight  of  again  in  a  moment,  for  the  risks  of  battle  com- 
pelled him  to  watch  closely  over  the  safety  and  the  move- 
ments of  his  own  little  band.  He  had  scarcely  time  to 
see  the  colour  of  the  sparkling  eyes,  but  the  fair  hair  and 
delicately  cut  features  tanned  by  the  sun  did  not  escape 
him,  nor  the  gleam  of  a  bare  neck  that  seemed  all  the 
whiter  by  contrast  with  a  loosely  knotted  black  scarf. 
There  was  the  enthusiasm  and  excitement  of  a  soldier  in  the 
bearing  of  the  young  leader,  and  of  a  type  of  soldier  for 


The  Ambuscade 


39 


whom  a  certain  dramatic  element  seems  desirable  in  a 
fight.  The  hand  that  swung  the  sword-blade  aloft  in 
the  sunlight  was  well  gloved,  vigour  was  expressed  in 
the  face,  and  a  certain  refinement  also  in  a  like  degree.  In 
his  high-wrought  exaltation,  set  off  by  all  the  charms  of 
youth  and  graciousness  of  manner,  he  seemed  to  be  a  fair 
ideal  type  of  the  French  noblesse ;  while  Hulot,  not  four 
paces  from  him,  might  have  been  the  embodiment  of  the 
energetic  Republic  for  whom  the  veteran  was  fighting. 
His  stern  face,  his  blue  uniform  faced  with  the  worn  red 
facings,  the  grimy  epaulettes  that  hung  back  over  his 
shoulders,  expressed  the  character  and  the  deficiencies  of 
their  owner. 

The  graceful  attitude  and  expression  of  the  younger 
man  were  not  lost  upon  Hulot,  who  shouted  as  he  tried 
to  reach  him — 

*  Here  you,  ballet-dancer  !  come  a  little  nearer,  so  that 
I  may  get  a  chance  at  you  ! 9 

The  Royalist  leader,  irritated  by  the  momentary  check, 
made  a  desperate  forward  movement ;  but  the  moment  his 
own  men  saw  the  danger  he  was  thus  incurring,  they  all 
flung  themselves  upon  the  Blues.  A  clear,  sweet  voice 
suddenly  rang  out  above  the  din  of  conflict — 

4  Here  it  was  that  the  sainted  Lescure  fell !  Will  you 
not  avenge  him  ? ' 

At  these  magical  words  the  Chouan  onset  became 
terrible  ;  the  little  troup  of  Republican  soldiers  kept  their 
line  unbroken  with  the  greatest  difficulty. 

c  If  he  had  not  been  a  youngster,'  said  Hulot  to  him- 
self, as  he  gave  way  step  by  step,  6  we  should  not  have 
been  attacked  at  all.  When  did  Chouans  offer  battle 
before  ?  But  so  much  the  better,  they  won't  shoot  us 
down  like  dogs  along  the  road.' 

He  raised  his  voice  till  the  woods  echoed  with  the 
words — 

c  Come,  look  alive,  men  ;  are  we  going  to  let  ourselves 
be  fooled  by  these  bandits  ? ' 


40 


The  Chouans 


The  verb  is  but  a  feeble  substitute  for  that  of  the 
gallant  commander's  choice,  but  old  hands  will  be  able  to 
insert  the  genuine  word,  which  certainly  possesses  a  more 
soldierly  flavour. 

'Gerard,  Merle,'  the  commandant  continued,  ccall 
in  your  men,  form  them  in  columns,  and  fail  on  their 
rear,  fire  on  these  curs,  and  make  an  end  of  them  ! ' 

Hulot's  orders  were  carried  out  with  great  difficulty ; 
for  the  young  chief  heard  the  voice  of  his  antagonist,  and 
shouted — 

c  Saint  Anne  of  Auray  !  Don't  let  them  get  away  ! 
Scatter  yourselves,  my  gars  ! ' 

As  either  wing  commanded  by  Merle  and  Gerard  with- 
drew from  the  thick  of  the  fray,  each  little  column  was 
pertinaciously  followed  by  Chouans  in  greatly  superior 
numbers.  The  old  goat-skins  surrounded  the  men  under 
Merle  and  Gerard  on  all  sides,  once  more  uttering  those 
threatening  cries  of  theirs,  like  the  howls  of  wild  beasts. 

c  Silence,  gentlemen!'  shouted  Beau-Pied;  c  we 
can't  hear  ourselves  being  killed.' 

The  joke  put  fresh  heart  into  the  Blues. 

The  fighting  was  no  longer  concentrated  upon  & 
single  point,  the  Republicans  defended  themselves  in 
three  different  places  on  the  plateau  of  the  Pelerine,  and 
the  valleys,  so  quiet  hitherto,  re-echoed  with  the  sound  of 
the  firing.  Hours  might  have  passed  and  left  the  issue 
still  undecided,  or  the  struggle  might  have  come  to  an  end 
for  lack  of  combatants.  The  courage  of  Blues  and 
Chouans  was  evenly  matched,  and  the  fierce  desire  of 
battle  was  surging  as  it  were  from  the  one  side  to  the 
other,  when  far  away  and  faintly  there  sounded  the  tap  of 
a  drum,  and  from  the  direction  of  the  sound  the  corps  that 
it  heralded  must  be  crossing  the  valley  of  the  Couesnon. 

c  That  is  the  National  Guard  from  Fougeres  ! '  cried 
Gudin  ;  c  Vannier  must  have  fallen  in  with  them  ! ' 

His  voice  reached  the  young  leader  and  his  ferocious 
aide-de-camp  j  the  Royalists  began  to  give  way  ;  but  a  cry 


The  Ambuscade 


41 


like  a  wild  beast's  from  Marche-a-Terre  promptly  checked 
them.  Two  or  three  orders  were  given  in  a  low  voice 
by  the  chief,  and  translated  by  Marche-a-Terre  into  Bas- 
Breton  for  the  Chouans ;  and  the  retreat  began,  conducted 
with  a  skill  which  baffled  the  Republicans,  and  even  their 
commandant.  In  the  first  place,  such  of  the  Chouans  as  were 
not  disabled  drew  up  in  line  at  the  word,  and  presented  a 
formidable  front  to  the  enemy,  while  the  wounded  and  the 
remainder  of  them  fell  behind  to  load  their  guns.  Then 
all  at  once,  with  a  swiftness  of  which  Marche-a-Terre 
had  given  an  example,  the  wounded  from  the  rear  gained 
the  summits  of  the  bank  on  the  right  side  of  the  road,  and 
were  followed  thither  by  half  of  the  remaining  Chouans, 
who  clambered  nimbly  up,  and  manned  the  top  of  the 
bank,  only  their  energetic  heads  being  visible  to  the 
Blues  below.  Once  there,  they  made  a  sort  of  rampart  of 
the  trees,  and  thence  they  brought  the  barrels  of  their 
guns  to  bear  upon  the  remnant  of  the  escort,  who  had 
rapidly  drawn  up  in  obedience  to  repeated  orders  from 
Hulot,  in  such  a  way  as  to  present  a  front  equal  to  that 
of  the  Chouans,  who  were  still  occupying  the  road. 
These  last  fell  back,  still  disputing  the  ground,  and 
wheeled  so  as  to  bring  themselves  under  cover  of  the  fire 
of  their  own  party.  When  they  reached  the  ditch  which 
lay  by  the  roadside,  they  scrambled  in  their  turn  up  the 
steep  slope,  whose  top  was  held  by  their  own  comrades, 
and  so  rejoined  them,  steadily  supporting  the  murderous 
fire  of  the  Republicans,  which  filled  the  ditch  with 
dead  bodies,  the  men  from  the  height  of  the  scarp 
replying  the  while  with  a  fire  no  less  deadly. 

Just  then  the  National  Guard  from  Fougeres  arrived 
at  a  run  on  the  scene  of  the  conflict,  and  with  their  pre- 
sence the  affair  was  at  an  end.  A  few  excited  soldiers 
and  the  National  Guards  were  leaving  the  footpath  to 
follow  them  up  in  the  woods,  but  the  commandant  called 
to  them  in  his  soldier's  voice,  "  Do  you  want  to  be  cut 
to  bits  over  there  ?  " 


42 


The  Chouans 


They  came  up  with  the  Republican  troops,  who  were 
left  in  possession  of  the  field  indeed,  but  only  after  heavy 
losses.  Then  all  the  old  hats  went  aloft  on  the  points  of  their 
bayonets,  while  every  soldier's  voice  cried  twice  over,  'Long 
live  the  Republic  ! '  Even  the  wounded  men  lying  by  the 
roadside  shared  alike  in  the  enthusiasm,  and  Hulot  squeezed 
his  lieutenant's  hand  as  he  said— 

4  One  might  call  that  pluck,  eh  ? ' 

Merle  was  ordered  to  bury  the  dead  in  a  ravine  by  the 
wayside.  Carts  and  horses  were  requisitioned  from 
neighbouring  farms  for  the  wounded,  whom  their  com- 
rades hastened  to  lay  on  the  clothing  taken  from  the 
dead.  Before  they  set  out,  the  National  Guard  from 
Fougeres  brought  a  Chouan  to  Hulot ;  the  man  was 
dangerously  wounded,  and  had  been  found  lying  exhausted 
at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  up  which  his  party  had  made 
their  escape. 

4  Thanks  for  this  prompt  stroke  of  yours,  citizens,' 
said  the  commandant.  1  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  we  should 
have  had  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  but  for  you.  You 
must  look  out  for  yourselves  now ;  the  war  has  broken 
out  in  earnest.    Good  day,  gentlemen  ! ' 

Hulot  turned  to  his  prisoner. 

c  What  is  your  general's  name  ? ' 

1  The  Gars.' 

*  Who  ?    Marche-a-Terre  ? 9 
<  No,  the  Gars.' 

*  And  where  does  the  Gars  come  from  ? ' 

To  this  question  the  Chasseur  du  Roi  made  no  reply  ; 
his  wild,  weather-beaten  face  was  drawn  with  pain  >  he 
took  his  beads  and  began  to  mutter  a  prayer, 

'The  Gars  is  that  young  ci-devant  with  the  black 
cravat,  no  doubt.  He  has  been  sent  over  here  by  the 
Tyrant  and  his  allies  Pitt  and  Cobourg  9 

Here  the  Chouan,  who  had  so  far  seemed  unconscious 
of  what  was  going  on,  raised  his  head  at  the  words  to  say 
proudly — 


The  Ambuscade 


43 


1  Sent  by  God  and  the  King  ! ' 

The  energy  with  which  he  spoke  exhausted  his 
strength.  The  commandant  turned  away  with  a  frown. 
He  saw  the  difficulty  of  interrogating  a  dying  man,  a  man, 
moreover,  who  bore  signs  of  a  gloomy  fanaticism  in  every 
line  of  his  face.  Two  of  his  men  stepped  forward  and 
took  aim  at  the  Chouan ;  they  were  friends  of  the  two 
poor  fellows  whom  Marche-a-Terre  had  dispatched  so 
brutally  with  a  blow  from  his  whip  at  the  outset,  for  both 
were  lying  dead  at  the  roadside.  The  Chouan's  steady 
eyes  did  not  flinch  before  the  barrels  of  the  muskets  that 
they  pointed  at  him,  although  they  fired  close  to  his  face. 
He  fell;  but  when  the  men  came  up  to  strip  the  corpse, 
he  shouted  again  for  the  last  time,  6  Long  live  the 
King!' 

'All  right,  curmudgeon,'  said  Clef-des-Coeurs, 
c  Be  off  to  your  Holy  Virgin  and  get  your  supper. 
Didn't  he  come  back  and  say  to  our  faces, "  Long  live  the 
Tyrant,"  when  we  thought  it  was  all  over  with  him  ? ' 

4  Here,  sir,'  said  Beau-Pied;  'here  are  the  brigand's 
papers.' 

'Look  here,  though,'  cried  Clef-des-Cceurs;  'here's  a 
fellow  been  enlisted  by  the  Saints  above ;  he  wears  their 
badge  here  on  his  chest ! ' 

Hulot  and  some  others  made  a  group  round  the 
Chouan's  naked  body,  and  saw  upon  the  dead  man's 
breast  a  flaming  heart  tattooed  in  a  bluish  colour,  a  token 
that  the  wearer  had  been  initiated  into  the  Brotherhood  of 
the  Sacred  Heart.  Under  the  symbol  Hulot  made  out 
1  Marie  Lambrequin^  evidently  the  Chouan's  own  name. 

c  You  see  that,  Clef-des-Cceurs  ? '  asked  Beau-Pied. 
'  Well,  you  would  guess  away  for  a  century  and  never 
find  out  what  that  part  of  his  accoutrements  means.' 

<  How  should  /  know  about  the  Pope's  uniforms,' 
replied  Clef-des-Coeurs. 

*  You  good-for-nothing  flint-crusher,  will  you  never  be 
any  wiser  ?    Can't  you  see  that  they  promised  the  chap 


44 


The  Chouans 


there  that  he  should  come  to  life  again  ?  He  painted  his 
gizzard  so  as  to  be  known  by  it.'  There  was  some 
ground  for  the  witticism.  Hulot  himself  could  not  help 
joining  in  the  general  laughter  that  followed. 

By  this  time  Merle  had  buried  the  dead,  and  the 
wounded  had  been  laid  in  the  carts  as  carefully  as  might 
be.  The  other  soldiers  formed  in  a  double  file,  one  on 
either  side  of  the  improvised  ambulance  waggons,  and  in 
this  manner  they  went  down  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain,  the  outlook  over  Maine  before  their  eyes,  and 
the  lovely  valley  of  the  Pelerine,  which  rivals  that  of  the 
Couesnon.  Hulot  and  his  two  friends  Merle  and  Gerard 
followed  slowly  after  the  men,  wishing  that  they  might, 
without  further  mishap,  reach  Ernee,  where  the  wounded 
could  be  attended  to. 

This  engagement,  though  scarcely  heard  of  in  France, 
where  great  events  were  even  then  taking  place,  attracted 
some  attention  in  the  West,  where  this  second  rising 
filled  every  one's  thoughts.  A  change  was  remarked  in 
the  methods  adopted  by  the  Chouans  in  the  opening  of 
the  war :  never  before  had  they  attacked  so  considerable 
a  body  of  troops.  Hulot's  conjectures  led  him  to  suppose 
that  the  young  Royalist  whom  he  had  seen  must  be  1  the 
Gars,'  a  new  general  sent  over  to  France  by  the  princes, 
and  that  his  own  name  and  title  were  concealed  after  the 
custom  of  Royalist  leaders  by  that  kind  of  nickname 
which  is  called  a  nom-de- guerre.  This  circumstance  made 
him  as  uneasy  after  his  dubious  victory  as  he  had  been  on 
his  first  suspicion  of  an  ambuscade ;  more  than  once  he 
turned  to  look  at  the  plateau  of  La  Pelerine,  which  he  was 
leaving  behind,  while  even  yet  at  intervals  the  faint  sound 
of  a  drum  reached  him,  for  the  National  Guard  was  going 
down  the  valley  of  the  Couesnon,  while  they  themselves 
were  descending  the  valley  of  La  Pelerine. 

*  Can  either  of  you  suggest  their  motive  for  attacking 
us  ? '  he  began  abruptly,  addressing  his  two  friends. 
*  Fighting  is  a  kind  of  trade  in  musket  shots  for  them, 


The  Ambuscade 


45 


and  I  cannot  see  that  they  have  made  anything  in  our  case. 
They  must  have  lost  at  least  a  hundred  men  ;  while  we,' 
he  added,  screwing  up  his  right  cheek,  and  winking  his 
eyes  by  way  of  a  smile,  'have  not  lost  sixty.  By 
Heaven,  I  can't  understand  the  speculation  !  The 
rogues  need  never  have  attacked  us  at  all.  We  should 
have  gone  past  the  place  like  letters  by  the  post,  and  I 
can't  see  what  good  it  did  them  to  make  holes  in  our 
fellows.' 

He  pointed  dejectedly  to  the  wounded  as  he  spoke. 
4  May  be  they  wanted  to  wish  us  good  day,'  he  added. 

4  But  they  have  secured  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  our 
lambs,'  said  Merle,  thinking  of  the  recruits. 

*  The  requisitionaries  could  have  hopped  off  into  the 
woods  like  frogs;  we  should  not  have  gone  in  to  fish 
them  out  again,  at  any  rate  not  after  a  volley  or  two. 
No,  no,'  went  on  Huloti;  c  there  is  something  more 
behind.' 

He  turned  again  to  look  at  La  Pelerine. 
6  Stay,'  he  cried  ;  c  look  there  ! ' 

Far  away  as  they  were  from  the  unlucky  plateau  by 
this  time,  the  practised  eyes  of  the  three  officers  easily 
made  out  Marche-a-Terre  and  others  in  possession  of  the 
place. 

'Quick  march!'  cried  Hulot  to  his  troop.  c Stir 
your  shanks  and  make  those  horses  move  on  faster  than 
that.  Are  their  legs  frozen  ?  Have  the  beasts  also 
been  sent  over  by  Pitt  and  Cobourg  ? '  The  pace  of  the 
little  troop  was  quickened  by  the  words. 

4 1  hope  to  Heaven  we  shall  not  have  to  clear  up  this 
mystery  at  Ernee  with  powder  and  ball,'  he  said  to  the 
two  officers  ;  c  it  is  too  dark  a  business  for  me  to  see 
through  readily.  I  am  afraid  we  shall  be  told  that  the 
king's  subjects  have  cut  off  our  communications  with 
Mayenne.' 

The  very  strategical  problem  which  made  Hulot's 
moustache  bristle,  gave  anxiety,  no  whit  less  keen,  to  the 


46 


The  Chouans 


men  whom  he  had  discovered  upon  the  summit  of  La 
Pelerine.  The  drum  of  the  National  Guard  from 
Fougeres  was  hardly  out  of  earshot,  the  Blues  had  only 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  long  steep  road  below,  when 
Marche-a-Terre  cheerfully  gave  the  cry  of  the  screech 
owl  again,  and  the  Chouans  reappeared,  but  in  smaller 
numbers.  Some  of  them  must  have  been  occupied  in 
bandaging  the  wounded  at  the  village  of  La  Pelerine,  on 
the  side  of  the  hills  overlooking  the  valley  of  the 
Couesnon.  Two  or  three  Chasseurs  du  Roi  came  up  to 
Marche-a-Terre. 

Four  paces  away  the  young  noble  sat  musing  on  a 
granite  boulder,  absorbed  by  the  numerous  thoughts  to 
which  his  difficult  enterprise  gave  rise  in  him.  Marche- 
a-Terre  shaded  the  sun  from  his  eyes  with  his  hand  as  he 
dejectedly  followed  the  progress  of  the  Republicans  down 
the  valley  of  La  Pelerine.  His  small  keen  black  eyes  were 
trying  to  discover  what  was  passing  on  the  horizon 
where  the  road  left  the  valley  for  the  opposite  hillside. 

c  The  Blues  will  intercept  the  mail,'  said  one  of  the 
chiefs  sullenly,  who  stood  nearest  to  Marche-a-Terre. 

cBy  St.  Anne  of  Auray  ! '  asked  another,  'why  did 
you  make  us  fight  ?    To  save  your  own  skin  ? 9 

Marche-a-Terre's  glance  at  the  speaker  was  full  of 
malignity ;  he  rapped  the  butt  of  his  heavy  carbine  on 
the  ground.  cAm  I  in  command?'  said  he.  Then 
after  a  pause  he  went  on,  c  If  all  of  you  had  fought  as  I 
did,  not  one  of  the  Blues  would  have  escaped,'  and  he 
pointed  to  the  remnant  of  Hulot's  detachment  below, 
cand  perhaps  then  the  coach  would  have  come  through 
as  far  as  here.' 

c  Do  you  suppose,'  asked  a  third  speaker,  i  that  the 
idea  of  escorting  it,  or  stopping  it  either,  would  have 
crossed  their  minds  if  we  had  let  them  pass  peaceably  ? 
You  wanted  to  save  your  own  hide,  you  that  would  have 
it  the  Blues  were  not  on  the  march.  He  must  save  his 
own  bacon/  he  went  on,  turning  to  the  others,  i  and  the 


The  Ambuscade 


47 


rest  of  us  must  bleed  for  it,  and  we  are  like  to  lose  twenty 
thousand  francs  in  good  gold  coin  besides/ 

*  Bacon  yourself!'  cried  Marche-a-Terre,  drawing 
back  and  bringing  his  carbine  to  bear  on  his  adversary. 
4  It's  not  that  you  hate  the  Blues,  but  that  you  are  fond 
of  money.  You  shall  die  without  confession,  do  you 
hear  ?  A  damned  rascal  that  hasn't  taken  the  sacrament 
this  twelvemonth  past.' 

The  Chouan  turned  white  with  rage  at  this  insult,  a 
deep  growl  came  from  his  chest  as  he  raised  his  musket 
and  pointed  it  at  Marche-a-Terre.  The  young  leader 
rushed  between  them,  knocked  the  firearms  out  of  their 
hands  by  striking  up  their  weapons  with  the  stock  of  his 
carbine,  and  demanded  an  explanation  of  the  quarrel. 
The  dispute  had  been  carried  on  in  Bas  Breton,  with 
which  he  was  not  very  familiar. 

Marche-a-Terre  explained,  and  ended  his  discourse 
with,  c  It's  the  more  shame  to  them  that  bear  a  grudge 
against  me,  my  lord  marquis,  for  I  left  Pille-Miche 
behind,  and  very  likely  he  will  keep  the  coach  out  of 
these  robbers'  clutches.'  He  pointed  to  the  Blues,  for 
these  faithful  defenders  of  altar  and  throne  were  all 
brigands  and  murderers  of  Louis  xvi. 

c  What  ? '  cried  the  young  man  angrily.  c  Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  are  waiting  here  to  stop  a  coach  ? 
You  cowards,  who  could  not  gain  the  victory  in  the  first 
encounter  with  me  for  your  commander !  How  is 
victory  possible  with  such  intentions  ?  So  those  who 
fight  for  God  and  the  King  are  pillagers  ?  By  St.  Anne 
of  Auray  !  we  are  making  war  on  the  Republic  and  not 
on  diligences.  Any  one  guilty  of  such  disgraceful 
actions  in  future  will  not  be  pardoned,  and  shall  not 
benefit  by  the  favours  destined  for  brave  and  faithful 
servants  of  the  King.' 

A  murmur  like  a  growl  arose  from  the  band.  It  was 
easy  to  see  that  the  authority  of  the  new  leader,  never 
very  sure  over  these  undisciplined  troops,  had  been  com- 


48 


The  Chouans 


promised.  Nothing  of  this  was  lost  upon  the  young  man, 
who  cast  about  him  for  a  means  of  saving  his  orders 
from  discredit,  when  the  sound  of  approaching  horse-hoofs 
broke  the  silence.  Every  head  was  turned  in  the  direction 
whence  the  sound  seemed  to  come.  A  young  woman 
appeared,  mounted  sideways  upon  a  little  horse,  her  pace 
quickened  to  a  gallop  as  soon  as  she  saw  the  young  man. 

c  What  is  the  matter  ? '  she  asked,  looking  by  turns  at 
the  chief  and  the  assembled  Chouans. 

'Would  you  believe  it,  madame,  they  are  waiting  to 
plunder  the  coach  that  runs  between  Mayenne  and 
Fougeres,  just  as  we  have  liberated  our  gars  from 
Fougeres  in  a  skirmish  which  has  cost  us  a  good  many 
lives,  without  our  being  able  to  demolish  the  Blues.' 

4  Very  well,  but  where  is  the  harm  ? '  asked  the  young 
lady,  whose  woman's  tact  had  revealed  the  secret  of  this 
scene  to  her.  4  You  have  lost  some  men,  you  say  ;  we 
shall  never  run  short  of  them.  The  mail  is  carrying 
money,  and  we  are  always  short  of  that.  We  will  bury 
our  men,  who  will  go  to  heaven,  and  we  will  take  the 
money,  which  will  go  into  the  pockets  of  these  good 
fellows.    What  is  the  objection  ?  * 

Every  face  among  the  Chouans  beamed  with  approval 
at  her  words. 

4Is  there  nothing  in  this  to  make  you  blush?'  said 
the  young  man  in  a  low  voice.  c  Are  you  in  such 
straits  for  money  that  you  have  to  take  the  road  for  it  ? ' 

4 1  am  so  in  want  of  it,  marquis,  that  I  could  put  my 
heart  in  pledge  for  it,  I  think,  if  it  were  still  in  my 
keeping,'  she  said,  smiling  coquettishly  at  him.  4  Where 
can  you  come  from  to  think  of  employing  Chouans 
without  allowing  them  to  plunder  the  Blues  now  and 
again  ?  Don't  you  know  the  proverb,  "  Thievish  as  an 
owl,"  and  what  else  is  a  Chouan  ?  Besides,'  she  went 
on,  raising  her  voice,  4  is  it  not  a  righteous  action  ? 
Have  not  the  Blues  robbed  us,  and  taken  the  property  of 
the  Church  ? ' 


The  Ambuscade 


49 


Again  a  murmur  from  the  Chouans  greeted  her  words, 
a  very  different  sound  from  the  growl  with  which  they 
had  answered  the  marquis.  The  colour  on  the  young 
man's  brow  grew  darker,  he  stepped  a  little  aside  with 
the  lady,  and  began  with  the  lively  petulance  of  a  well- 
bred  man — 

1  Will  these  gentlemen  come  to  the  Vivetiere  on  the 
appointed  day  ? ' 

€  Yes,'  she  answered,  c  all  of  them,  l'Intime,  Grand 
Jacques,  and  possibly  Ferdinand.' 

'Then  permit  me  to  return  thither,  for  I  cannot 
sanction  such  brigandage  by  my  presence.  Yes,  madame, 
I  say  it  is  brigandage.  A  noble  may  allow  himself  to  be 
robbed,  but  ' 

'  Very  well  then,'  she  broke  in  ;  c  I  shall  have  your 
share,  and  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  giving  it  up  to  me. 
The  prize  money  will  put  me  in  funds.  My  mother  has 
delayed  sending  money  to  me  for  so  long  that  I  am  fairly 
desperate.' 

'  Goodbye,'  said  the  marquis,  and  he  disappeared. 
The  lady  hurried  quickly  after  him, 

'Why  won't  you  stay  with  me?'  she  asked,  with  a 
glance  half  tyrannous,  half  tender ;  such  a  glance  as  a 
woman  gives  to  a  man  over  whom  she  exerts  a  claim, 
when  she  desires  to  make  her  wishes  known  to  him, 

'  Are  you  not  going  to  plunder  the  coach  ? ' 

'  Plunder  ? '  she  repeated  j '  what  a  strange  expression  ! 
Let  me  explain  ' 

'Not  a  word,'  he  said,  taking  both  her  hands  and 
kissing  them  with  a  courtier's  ready  gallantry.  1  Listen 
to  me,'  he  went  on,  after  a  pause,  '  if  I  were  to  stay 
here  while  they  stop  the  coach,  our  people  would  kill  me, 
for  I  should  ' 

'  They  would  not  kill  you,'  she  answered  quickly ; 
4  they  would  tie  your  hands  together,  always  with  due 
respect  to  your  rank ;  and  after  levying  upon  the 
Republicans  a  contribution  sufficient  for  their  equipment 

D 


50  The  Chouans 

and  maintenance,  and  for  some  purchases  of  gunpowder, 
they  would  again  obey  you  blindly.' 

c  And  you  would  have  me  command  here  ?  If  my  life  is 
necessary  to  the  cause  for  which  I  am  fighting,  you  must 
allow  me  to  save  my  honour  as  a  commander.  I  can 
pass  over  this  piece  of  cowardice  if  it  is  done  in  my 
absence.    I  will  come  back  again  to  be  your  escort.' 

He  walked  rapidly  away.  The  young  lady  heard  the  i 
sound  of  his  footsteps  with  evident  vexation.  When  the  | 
sound  of  his  tread  on  the  dead  rustling  leaves  had  died 
away,  she  waited  a  while  like  one  stupefied,  then  she 
hurried  back  to  the  Chouans.  An  abrupt  scornful 
gesture  escaped  her ;  she  said  to  Marche-a-Terre,  who 
was  aiding  her  to  dismount,  c  The  young  man  wants  to 
open  war  on  the  Republic  in  regular  form  !— Ah,  well,  he 
will  alter  his  mind  in  a  day  or  two.  But  how  he  has 
treated  me !'  she  said  to  herself  after  a  pause. 

She  sat  down  on  the  rock  where  the  marquis  had  been 
sitting,  and  waited  the  coming  of  the  coach  in  silence.  It 
was  not  one  of  the  least  significant  signs  of  the  times  that 
a  young  and  noble  lady  should  be  thus  brought  by  violent 
party  feeling  into  the  struggle  between  the  monarchies 
and  the  spirit  of  the  age,  impelled  by  the  strength  of 
those  feelings  to  assist  in  deeds,  to  which  she  yet  was  (so 
to  speak)  not  an  accessory,  led  like  many  another  by  an 
exaltation  of  soul  that  sometimes  brings  great  things  to 
pass.  Many  a  woman,  like  her,  played  a  part  in  those 
troubled  times  ;  sometimes  it  was  a  sorry  one,  sometimes 
the  part  of  a  heroine.  The  Royalist  cause  found  no 
more  devoted  and  active  emissaries  than  among  such 
women  as  these. 

In  expiation  of  the  errors  of  devotion,  or  for  the  mis- 
chances  of  the  false  position  in  which  these  heroines  of  their 
cause  were  placed,  perhaps  none  suffered  so  bitterly  as 
the  lady  at  that  moment  seated  on  the  slab  of  granite 
by  the  wayside ;  yet  even  in  her  despair  she  could  not 
but  admire  the  noble  pride  and  the  loyalty  of  the  young 


The  Ambuscade  51 

chief.  Insensibly  she  fell  to  musing  deeply.  Bitter 
memories  awoke  that  made  her  look  longingly  back  to 
early  and  innocent  days,  and  regret  that  she  had  not  fallen 
a  victim  to  this  Revolution,  whose  progress  such  weak 
hands  as  hers  could  never  stay. 

The  coach,  which  had  counted  for  something  in  the 
Chouan  attack,  had  left  the  village  of  Ernee  some 
moments  before  the  two  parties  began  skirmishing. 
Nothing  reveals  the  character  of  a  country  more  clearly 
than  its  means  of  communication.  Looked  at  in  this 
light,  the  coach  deserves  special  attention.  The  Revolu- 
tion itself  was  powerless  to  destroy  it ;  it  is  going  yet  in 
our  own  day. 

When  Turgot  resumed  the  monopoly  of  conveyance 
of  passengers  throughout  France,  which  Louis  xiv.  had 
granted  to  a  company,  he  started  the  fresh  enterprise  which 
gave  his  name  to  the  coaches  or  turgotines  $  and  then  out 
into  the  provinces  went  the  old  chariots  of  Messrs.  de 
Vousges,  Chauteclaire,  and  the  widow  Lacombe,  to  do 
service  upon  the  highways.  One  of  these  miserable 
vehicles  came  and  went  between  Mayenne  and  Fougeres. 
They  were  called  turgotines  out  of  pure  perversity  and 
by  way  of  antiphrasis  ->  perhaps  a  dislike  for  the  minister 
who  started  the  innovation,  or  a  desire  to  mimic  Paris, 
suggested  the  appellation. 

This  turgotine  was  a  crazy  cabriolet,  with  two  enor- 
mous wheels  ;  its  back  seat,  which  scarcely  afforded  room 
for  two  fairly  stout  people,  served  also  as  a  box  for  carrying 
the  mails.  Some  care  was  required  not  to  overload  the 
feeble  structure  ;  but  if  travellers  carried  any  luggage,  it 
had  to  lie  in  the  bottom  of  the  coach,  a  narrow  box-like 
hole  shaped  like  a  pair  of  bellows,  where  their  feet  and  legs 
were  already  cramped  for  room.  The  original  colour  of  the 
body  and  the  wheels  offered  an  insoluble  enigma  to  the 
attention  of  passengers.  Two  leather  curtains,  unman- 
ageable in  spite  of  their  long  service,  protected  the 
sufferers    from    wind    and    weather.      The  driver, 


The  Chouans 


seated  in  front  on  a  rickety  bench,  as  in  the  wretchedest 
chaises  about  Paris,  was  perforce  included  in  the  conversa- 
tion, by  reason  of  his  peculiar  position  among  his  victims, 
biped  and  quadruped.  There  were  fantastic  resemblances 
between  the  vehicle  and  some  decrepit  old  man  who  has 
come  through  so  many  bronchial  attacks  and  apoplectic 
seizures  that  Death  seems  to  respect  him.  It  went  com- 
plainingly,  and  creaked  at  every  other  moment.  Like  a 
traveller  overtaken  by  heavy  slumber,  it  lurched  back- 
wards and  forwards,  as  if  it  would  fain  have  resisted  the 
strenuous  efforts  of  the  little  Breton  horses  that  dragged 
it  over  a  tolerably  uneven  road.  This  relic  of  a  bygone 
time  held  three  passengers ;  their  conversation  had  been 
interrupted  at  Ernee  while  the  horses  were  changed,  and 
was  now  resumed  as  they  left  the  place. 

6  What  makes  you  think  that  the  Chouans  will  show 
themselves  out  here  ? '  asked  the  driver.  c  They  have 
just  told  me  at  Ernee  that  the  commandant  Hulot  had 
not  yet  left  Fougeres.' 

c  It's  all  very  well  for  you,  friend,'  said  the  youngest 
of  the  three  ;  cyou  risk  nothing  but  your  own  skin.  If 
you  were  known  as  a  good  patriot  and  carried  three 
hundred  crowns  about  you,  as  I  do,  you  wouldn't  take 
things  so  easily.' 

c  In  any  case,  you  are  very  imprudent,'  said  the  driver, 
shaking  his  head. 

*  You  may  count  your  sheep  and  yet  the  wolf  will  get 
them,'  said  the  second  person.  He  was  dressed  in  black, 
looked  about  forty  years  of  age,  and  seemed  to  be  a  recteur 
thereabouts.  His  double  chin  and  florid  complexion 
marked  him  out  as  belonging  to  the  Church.  Short  and 
stout  though  he  was,  he  displayed  a  certain  agility  each 
time  he  got  in  or  out  of  the  conveyance. 

4  Are  you  Chouans  ? '  cried  the  owner  of  the  three 
hundred  crowns.  His  voluminous  goat-skin  cloak  covered 
breeches  of  good  cloth  and  a  very  decent  waist- 
coat, all  signs  of  a  well-to-do  farrner.    4  By  the  soul 


The  Ambuscade 


S3 


of  St.  Robespierre,'  he  went  on,  c  you  shall  be  well 
received.  .  .  .' 

He  looked  from  the  driver  to  the  rector,  and  showed 
them  both  the  pistols  at  his  waist. 

*  Bretons  are  not  to  be  frightened  that  way,'  said  the 
cure  ;  4  and  besides  that,  do  we  look  as  if  we  wanted  your 
money  ? ' 

Each  time  the  word  money  was  mentioned  the  driver 
became  silent.  The  recteur's  wits  were  keen  enough  to 
make  him  suspect  that  the  patriot  had  no  money,  and 
that  there  was  some  cash  in  the  keeping  of  their 
charioteer. 

*  Have  you  much  of  a  load,  Coupiau  ? 9  he  inquired. 

c  Next  to  nothing,  as  you  may  say,  Monsieur  Gudin,' 
replied  the  driver. 

Monsieur  Gudin  looked  inquiringly  from  Coupiau  to 
the  patriot  at  this,  but  both  countenances  were  alike 
imperturbable. 

c  So  much  the  better  for  you,'  answered  the  patriot. 
4 1  shall  take  my  own  measures  for  protecting  my  money 
if  anything  goes  wrong.' 

This  direct  assumption  of  despotic  authority  provoked 
Coupiau  into  replying  roughly — 

4 1  am  the  master  here  in  the  coach,  and  so  long  as  I 
take  you  to  ' 

6  Are  you  a  patriot  or  a  Chouan  ?  9  interrupted  his 
adversary  sharply. 

c  I  am  neither,'  answered  Coupiau  ;  c  I  am  a 
postilion,  and,  what  is  more,  a  Breton ;  and  therefore 
I  am  not  afraid  of  Blues  nor  of  gentlemen.' 

c  Gentlemen  of  the  road,  you  mean,'  said  the  patriot 
sardonically. 

c  They  only  take  what  others  have  taken  from  them,' 
put  in  the  recteur  quickly,  while  the  eyes  of  either 
traveller  stared  at  the  other  as  if  to  penetrate  into  either's 
brain.  In  the  interior  of  the  coach  sat  a  third  passenger, 
who  remained  absolutely  silent  through  the  thick  of  the 


54  The  Chouans 

debate.  Neither  the  driver,  the  patriot,  nor  Gudin 
himself  took  the  slightest  heed  of  this  nonentity.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  was  one  of  those  tiresome  and  incon- 
venient people  who  travel  by  coach  as  passively  as  a  calf 
that  is  carried  with  its  legs  tied  up  to  a  neighbouring 
market.  At  the  outset  they  possess  themselves  of  at 
least  the  space  allotted  to  them  by  the  regulations,  and 
end  by  sleeping  without  consideration  or  humanity  on 
their  neighbours'  shoulders.  The  patriot,  Gudin,  and 
the  driver  had  let  him  alone,  thinking  that  he  was  asleep,  as 
soon  as  they  had  ascertained  that  it  was  useless  to  attempt 
to  converse  with  a  man  whose  stony  countenance  bore 
the  records  of  a  life  spent  in  measuring  ells  of  cloth,  and 
a  mind  bent  solely  upon  buying  cheap  and  selling  dear. 
Yet,  in  the  corner  where  he  lay  curled  up,  a  pair  of 
china-blue  eyes  opened  from  time  to  time ;  the  stout,  little 
man  had  viewed  each  speaker  in  turn  with  alarm,  doubt, 
and  mistrust,  but  he  seemed  to  stand  in  fear  of  his  travel- 
ling companions,  and  to  trouble  himself  very  little  about 
Chouans.  The  driver  and  he  looked  at  one  another  like 
a  pair  of  freemasons.  Just  then  the  firing  began  at  La 
Pelerine  j  Coupiau  stopped  in  dismay,  not  knowing  what 
to  do. 

c  Oh,  ho  !  ■  said  the  churchman,  who  seemed  to  grasp 
the  situation ;  c  this  is  something  serious.  There  are  a 
lot  of  people  about.' 

'The  question  is,  who  will  get  the  best  of  it,  M. 
Gudin  ? 9  cried  Coupiau,  and  this  time  the  same  anxiety 
was  seen  on  all  faces. 

c  Let  us  put  up  at  the  inn  down  there,  and  hide  the 
coach  till  the  affair  is  decided,'  suggested  Coupiau. 

This  advice  seemed  so  sound  that  Coupiau  acted  upon 
it,  and  with  the  patriot's  help  concealed  the  coach  behind 
a  pile  of  faggots. 

The  supposed  recteur  found  an  opportunity  of  whis- 
pering to  Coupiau — 

c  Has  he  really  any  money  ?  9 


The  Ambuscade 


55 


c  Eh,  M.  Gudin,  if  all  he  has  found  its  way  into 
your  reverence's  pockets  they  would  not  be  very  heavy.' 

The  Republicans,  hurrying  to  reach  Ernee  came  past 
the  inn  without  stopping  there.  The  sound  of  their 
rapid  march  brought  Gudin  and  the  innkeeper  to  the 
door  to  watch  them  curiously.  All  at  once  the  stout 
ecclesiastic  made  a  dash  at  a  soldier  who  was  lagging 
behind. 

cEh  ?  1  he  cried,  c  Gudin  !  Are  you  really  going 
with  the  Blues  ?  Infatuated  boy  !  Do  you  know  what 
you  are  about  ? 9 

4  Yes,  uncle,'  answered  the  corporal ;  *  I  have  sworn 
to  fight  for  France  ! ' 

c  But  your  soul  is  in  danger,  scapegrace,'  cried  his 
uncle,  appealing  to  the  religious  scruples  that  are  so 
strong  in  Breton  hearts. 

'Well,  uncle,  I  won't  say  but  that  if  the  king  had 
put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  ' 

c  Idiot  !  Who  is  talking  about  the  king  ?  Will  your 
Republic  give  preferment  ?  It  has  upset  everything  ! 
What  kind  of  a  career  do  you  expect  ?  Stay  with  us  ; 
we  shall  triumph  some  day  or  other,  and  then  you  shall 
be  made  councillor  to  some  Parliament.' 

c  A  Parliament  ? '  asked  Gudin  mockingly.  c  Good- 
bye, uncle  ! ' 

c  You  shall  not  have  the  worth  of  three  louis  from 
me  ;  I  shall  disinherit  you,'  his  uncle  called  angrily  after 
him. 

c  Thanks,'  said  the  Republican,  and  they  parted. 

The  fumes  of  cider  to  which  the  patriot  had  treated 
Coupiau  while  the  little  troop  was  passing  had  succeeded 
in  obscuring  the  driver's  intelligence  somewhat ;  but  he 
brightened  up  again  when  the  landlord,  having  learned 
the  upshot  of  the  struggle,  brought  the  news  of  a  victory 
for  the  Blues.  Coupiau  brought  out  his  coach  upon  the 
road  again,  and  they  were  not  long  in  showing  them- 
selves in  the  bottom  of  the  valley  of  La  Pelerine.  From 


5* 


The  Chouans 


the  plateaux  of  Maine  and  of  Brittany  both  it  was  easy 
to  see  the  coach  lying  in  the  trough  between  two  great 
waves,  like  a  bit  of  wreckage  after  a  storm  at  sea. 

Hulot  meanwhile  had  reached  the  summit  of  a  slope 
that  the  Blues  were  climbing.  La  Pelerine  was  still  in 
sight,  a  long  way  off,  so  he  turned  to  see  if  the  Chouans 
still  remained  on  the  spot.  The  sunlight  shining  on  the 
barrels  of  their  muskets  marked  them  out  for  him  as  a 
little  group  of  bright  dots.  As  he  scanned  the  valley  for 
the  last  time  before  quitting  it  for  the  valley  of  Ernee,  he 
thought  he  could  discern  Coupiau's  chariot  on  the  high 
road. 

c  Isn't  that  the  Mayenne  coach  ? '  he  asked  of  his 
two  comrades,  who  turned  their  attention  to  the  old  j 
turgotine  and  recognised  it  perfectly  well. 

c  Well,  then,  how  was  it  that  we  did  not  meet  it  ? '  j 
asked  Hulot,  as  all  three  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

4  Here  is  one  more  enigma,'  he  went  on ;   c  but  I 
begin  to  have  an  inkling  of  the  truth.' 

Just  at  that  very  instant  Marche-a-Terre  also  dis- 
covered the  turgotine,  and  pointed  it  out  to  his  comrades. 
A  general  outburst  of  rejoicing  aroused  the  young  lady 
from  her  musings.  She  came  forward  and  saw  the  coach 
as  it  sped  up  the  hillside  with  luckless  haste.  The 
miserable  turgotine  reached  the  plateau  almost  immedi- 
ately ;  and  the  Chouans,  who  had  hidden  themselves,  once 
more  rushed  out  upon  their  prey  in  greedy  haste.  The  I 
dumb  traveller  slipped  down  into  the  bottom  of  the  coach, 
and  cowered  there,  trying  to  look  like  a  package. 

'Well,'  cried  Coupiau  from  the  box,  cso  you  have 
smelt  out  the  patriot  there  !  He  has  money  about  him — 
a  bag  full  of  gold ; '  and  as  he  spoke,  he  pointed  out  the 
small  farmer,  only  to  find  that  the  Chouans  hailed  his  j 
remarks  with  a  general  roar  of  laughter  and  shouts  of  j 
'  Pille-Miche  !  Pille-Miche  !  Pille-Miche  ! '  In  the 
midst  of  the  hilarity,  which  Pille-Miche  himself  echoed, 
Coupiau  came  down  from  the  box  in  confusion.    The  j 


The  Ambuscade 


57 


famous  Cibot,  alias  Pille-Miche,  aided  his  companion  to 
alight,  and  a  respectful  murmur  arose. 

4  It  is  the  Abbe  Gudin  ! 5  cried  several  voices. 

All  hats  went  off  at  the  name,  and  the  Chouans  knelt 
to  ask  for  his  blessing,  which  was  gravely  given. 

Then  the  Abbe  clapped  Pille-Miche  on  the  shoulder. 

*  He  would  deceive  St.  Peter  himself,  and  steal  away 
the  keys  of  Paradise  ! '  he  cried.  c  But  for  him  the  Blues 
would  have  stopped  us ; '  and,  seeing  the  young  lady,  he 
spoke  with  her  a  few  paces  aside.  Marche-a-Terre 
adroitly  raised  the  seat  of  the  coach,  and  with  ferocious 
glee,  extracted  a  bag  which,  from  its  shape,  evidently 
contained  rouleaux  of  gold.  He  was  not  long  about 
dividing  the  spoil.  There  were  no  disputes,  for  each 
Chouan  received  his  exact  share.  Lastly,  he  went  up  to 
the  lady  and  the  priest,  and  presented  them  with  about 
six  thousand  francs. 

4  Can  I  take  this  with  a  clear  conscience,  Monsieur 
Gudin  ? '  the  lady  asked,  feeling  within  her  the  need  of  a 
sanction. 

c  Why  not,  madame  ?  In  former  times,  did  not  the 
Church  approve  the  confiscation  of  Protestant  goods  ? 
And  we  have  stronger  reasons  for  despoiling  these 
revolutionaries,  who  deny  God,  plunder  churches,  and 
persecute  religion  ?  Thereupon  the  Abbe  added  example 
to  precept,  and  took  without  scruple  the  tenth — in  new 
coin — which  Marche-a-Terre  offered  him. 

*  However,'  he  added,  c  I  can  now  dedicate  all  I  have  to 
the  service  of  God  and  the  King.  My  nephew  has  cast 
in  his  lot  with  the  Blues.' 

Coupiau  was  lamenting,  and  bewailed  himself  for  a 
ruined  man. 

'Come  along  with  us,'  said  Marche-a-Terre;  'you 
shall  have  your  share.' 

6  Every  one  will  say  that  I  set  out  to  be  robbed,  if  I  go 
back  again,  and  there  are  no  traces  of  violence.' 

6  Oh,  if  that  is  all  you  want,'  said  Marche-a-Terre. 


58  The  Chouans 

He  made  a  sign,  and  a  volley  of  musketry  riddled  the 
turgotine.  The  old  coach  gave  a  cry  so  piteous  at  this 
salute,  that  the  Chouans,  naturally  superstitious,  fell  back 
in  alarm,  save  Marche-a-Terre,  who  had  seen  the  pale 
face  of  the  mute  traveller  as  it  rose  and  fell  inside. 

4  There  is  one  more  fowl  yet  in  your  coop,'  Marche- 
a-Terre  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Coupiau.  Pille-Miche, 
who  saw  what  this  meant,  winked  significantly. 

6  Yes,'  replied  the  driver ;  c  but  I  made  it  a  condition 
when  I  enlisted  with  you  that  I  was  to  take  this  worthy 
man  safe  and  sound  to  Fougeres,  I  promised  that  in  the 
name  of  the  Saint  of  Auray.' 

c  Who  is  he  ? '  asked  Pille-Miche. 

c  I  can 't  tell  you  that,'  said  Coupiau, 

c  Let  him  alone  ! 9  said  Marche-a-Terre,  nudging  Pille- 
Miche  with  his  elbow.  c  He  swore  by  the  holy  Virgin  of 
Auray,  and  a  promise  is  a  promise.  But  don't  be  in  too 
great  a  hurry  down  the  hill/  the  Chouan  went  on, 
addressing  Coupiau ;  c  we  will  catch  you  up  for  reasons 
of  our  own.  I  want  to  see  the  muzzle  of  that  passenger 
of  yours,  and  then  we  will  give  him  a  passport/ 

A  horse  was  heard  approaching  La  Pelerine  at  full 
gallop.  In  a  moment  the  young  leader  returned,  and 
the  lady  promptly  tried  to  conceal  her  hand  with  the  bag 
in  it. 

'You  need  not  scruple  to  keep  that  money/  he  said, 
drawing  the  lady's  arm  forward.  c  Here  is  a  letter  for 
you  among  those  that  awaited  me  at  the  Vivetiere ;  it  is 
from  your  mother.' 

He  looked  from  the  coach,  which  now  descended  the 
hill,  to  the  Chouans,  and  added,  4  In  spite  of  my  haste, 
I  am  too  late.  Heaven  send  that  my  fears  are  ill 
grounded !  * 

4  That  is  my  poor  mother's  money ! '  cried  the  lady, 
when  she  had  broken  the  seal  of  the  letter  and  read  the 
first  few  lines. 

Sounds  of  smothered  laughter  came  from  the  woods. 


The  Ambuscade 


59 


The  young  man  himself  could  not  help  smiling  at 
sight  of  the  lady  with  a  share  of  the  plunder  of  her  own 
property  in  her  hands.    She  began  to  laugh  herself. 

4  Well,  I  escape  without  blame  for  once,  Marquis,'  she 
said,    *  Heaven  be  praised  ! ' 

cSo  you  take  all  things  with  a  light  heart,  even 
remorse  ? '  the  young  man  asked ;  but  she  flushed  up 
with  such  evident  contrition  that  he  relented.  The  Abbe 
politely  handed  to  her  the  tenth  he  had  just  received  with 
as  good  a  face  as  he  could  put  upon  it,  and  followed  the 
young  leader,  who  was  returning  by  the  way  he  had 
come.  The  young  lady  waited  behind  for  a  moment, 
and  beckoned  to  Marche-a-Terre. 

c  You  must  go  over  towards  Mortagne,'  she  said  in  a 
low  voice.  4 1  know  that  the  Blues  must  be  continually 
transmitting  large  sums  of  money  to  Alen^on  for  the 
prosecution  of  the  war.  I  give  up  to  your  comrades  the 
money  I  have  lost  to-day ;  but  I  shall  expect  them  to 
make  it  up  to  me.  And  before  all  things,  the  Gars  is 
not  to  know  the  reason  for  this  expedition  ;  but  if  any- 
thing should  go  wrong,  I  will  pacify  him.' 

'Madame,'  the  Marquis  began,  as  she  sat  behind  him 
en  croupe^  having  made  over  her  horse  to  the  Abbe,  c  our 
friends  in  Paris  are  writing  to  tell  us  to  keep  a  sharp 
look-out,  for  the  Republic  means  to  take  us  with  craft 
and  guile.' 

6  Well,  they  might  do  worse,'  she  replied  ;  4  it  is  not  at 
all  a  bad  idea  of  theirs.  I  shall  take  part  now  in  the  war, 
and  meet  the  enemy  on  my  own  ground.' 

'  Faith,  yes,'  said  the  Marquis.  c  Pichegru  warns  me 
to  be  on  my  guard  as  to  friendships  of  every  kind.  The 
Republic  does  me  the  honour  to  consider  me  more 
formidable  than  all  the  Vendeans  put  together,  and  thinks 
to  get  me  into  its  grasp  by  working  on  my  weaknesses.' 

c  Are  you  going  to  suspect  me  ? '  she  asked,  tapping 
his  breast  with  the  hand  by  which  she  held  him  close 
to  her, 


6o 


The  Chouans 


4  Would  you  be  there,  in  my  heart,  if  I  could  ? '  he  said, 
and  turned  to  receive  a  kiss  on  his  forehead. 

4  Then  we  are  like  to  run  more  risks  from  Fouche's 
police  than  from  regular  troops  or  from  Counter-Chouans,' 
was  the  Abbe's  comment. 

4  Your  reverence  is  quite  right.' 

4  Ah,  ha  ! '  the  lady  exclaimed,  4  so  Fouche  is  going  to 
send  women  against  you?  I  am  ready  for  them,'  she 
added  after  a  brief  pause,  with  a  deeper  note  in  her  voice. 

Meantime,  some  four  gunshots  from  the  lonely  plateau 
which  the  leaders  had  just  quitted,  a  drama  was  being 
enacted  of  a  kind  to  be  common  enough  on  the  highways 
for  some  time.  Beyond  the  little  village  of  La  Pelerine, 
Pille-Miche  and  Marche-a-Terre  had  again  stopped  the 
coach  in  a  place  where  the  road  widened  out.  Coupiau, 
after  a  feeble  resistance,  came  down  from  the  box.  The 
taciturn  traveller,  dragged  from  his  hiding-place  by  the 
two  Chouans,  found  himself  on  his  knees  in  a  bush  of 
broom. 

( Who  are  you  ? '  asked  Marche-a-Terre  in  threatening 
tones.  The  traveller  did  not  answer  at  all  till  Pille-Miche 
recommenced  his  examination  with  a  blow  from  the  butt 
end  of  his  musket.  Then,  with  a  glance  at  Coupiau,  the 
man  spoke — 

4  I  am  Jacques  Pinaud,  a  poor  linen-draper.'  Coupiau 
seemed  to  think  that  he  did  not  break  his  word  by  shaking 
his  head.  Pille-Miche  acted  on  the  hint,  and  pointed  his 
musket  at  the  traveller,  while  Marche-a-Terre  deliber- 
ately uttered  this  terrible  ultimatum — 

4  You  are  a  great  deal  too  fat  to  know  the  pinch  of 
poverty.  If  we  have  to  ask  you  for  your  name  again,  here 
is  my  friend  Pille-Miche  with  his  musket,  ready  to  earn 
the  esteem  and  gratitude  of  your  heirs.  Now,  who  are 
you  ? 1  he  asked  after  a  pause. 

4 1  am  d'Orgemont  of  Fougeres.' 

*  Ha  ! '  cried  the  two  Chouans. 

4  /  did  not  betray  you,  Monsieur  d'Orgemont,'  said 


The  Ambuscade 


61 


Coupiau.  4  The  holy  Virgin  is  my  witness  that  I  did 
my  best  to  protect  you/ 

c  Since  you  are  Monsieur  d'Orgemont  of  Fougeres, 
replied  Marche-a-Terre  with  a  fine  affectation  of  respect, 
4  of  course  we  must  let  you  go  in  peace.  But  still,  as  you 
are  neither  good  Chouan  nor  genuine  Blue  (for  you  it 
was  who  bought  the  property  of  the  Abbey  of  Juvigny), 
you  are  going  to  pay  us  three  hundred  crowns  ' — here  he 
seemed  to  count  the  number  of  the  party — and  went  on, 
4  of  six  francs  each.    Neutrality  is  cheap  at  the  price.' 

4  Three  hundred  crowns  of  six  francs  each  ! '  echoed 
the  unlucky  banker  in  chorus  with  Coupiau  and  Pille- 
Miche,  each  one  with  a  different  intonation. 

4  My  dear  sir,  I  am  a  ruined  man,'  he  cried.  cThis 
devil  of  a  Republic  taxes  us  up  to  the  hilt,  and  this  forced 
loan  of  a  hundred  millions  has  drained  me  dry.' 

4  How  much  did  your  Republic  want  of  you  ?  * 

4  A  thousand  crowns,  my  dear  sir,'  groaned  the  banker, 
thinking  to  be  let  off  more  easily. 

4  If  your  Republic  wrings  forced  loans  out  of  you  to 
that  tune,  you  ought  to  throw  in  your  lot  with  us.  Our 
government  will  cost  you  less.  Three  hundred  crowns — 
isn't  your  skin  worth  that  ? ' 

4  Where  am  I  to  find  them  ? 9 

4  In  your  strong  box,'  said  Pille-Miche.  4  And  no 
clipped  coins,  mind  you,  or  the  fire  shall  nibble  your 
finger  ends  ! ' 

4  Where  am  I  to  pay  them  over  ? ' 

4  Your  country-house  at  Fougeres  is  not  very  far  from 
the  farm  of  Gibarry,  where  lives  my  cousin  Galope- 
Chopine,  otherwise  big  Cibot.  You  will  make  them  over 
to  him,'  said  Pille-Miche. 

4  It  is  not  business,'  urged  d'Orgemont. 

'What  is  that  to  us  ?'  said  Marche-a-Terre.  'Mind 
this,  if  the  money  isn't  paid  to  Galope-Chopine  within  a 
fortnight,  we  will  pay  you  a  call,  and  that  will  cure  the 
gout  in  your  feet,  if  it  happens  to  trouble  you.    As  for 


6a 


The  Chouans 


you,  Coupiau,'  he  turned  to  the  driver,  cyour  name  in 
future  will  be  Mene-a-Bien? 

With  that  the  two  Chouans  departed.  The  traveller 
returned  to  the  coach,  and,  with  the  help  of  Coupiau's 
whip,  they  bowled  rapidly  along  to  Fougeres. 

c  If  you  had  carried  arms,'  Coupiau  began,  i  we  might 
have  defended  ourselves  better.' 

'Simpleton!'  replied  the  banker;  'I  have  ten 
thousand  francs  there,'  and  he  held  out  his  great  shoes. 
4  How  is  one  to  show  fight  with  a  large  sum  like  that 
about  one  ? ' 

Mene-a-Bien  scratched  his  ear  and  sent  a  glance  behind 
him,  but  his  new  friends  were  quite  out  of  sight. 

At  Ernee  Hulot  and  his  men  halted  a  while  to  leave 
the  wounded  in  the  hospital  in  the  little  town,  and 
finally  arrived  at  Mayenne  without  any  further  annoy- 
ance. The  next  day  put  an  end  to  the  commandant's 
doubts  as  to  the  fate  of  the  stage-coach,  for  everybody 
knew  how  it  had  been  stopped  and  plundered. 

A  few  days  after,  the  authorities  directed  upon  Mayenne 
enough  patriot  conscripts  to  fill  the  gaps  in  Hulot's  demi- 
brigade.  Very  soon  one  disquieting  rumour  followed 
another  concerning  the  insurrection.  There  was  com- 
plete revolt  at  all  the  points  which  had  been  centres  of 
rebellion  for  Chouans  and  Vendeans  in  the  late  war.  In 
Brittany  the  Royalists  had  made  themselves  masters  of 
Pontorson,  thus  securing  their  communications  with  the 
sea.  The  little  town  of  Saint  James  between  Pontorson 
and  Fougeres  had  been  taken  by  them,  and  it  appeared 
that  they  meant  to  make  it  their  temporary  headquarters, 
their  central  magazine,  and  basis  of  operations.  Thence 
they  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  Normandy  and 
Morbihan  in  security.  The  Royalists  of  the  three  pro- 
vinces were  brought  into  concerted  action  by  subaltern 
officers  dispersed  throughout  the  country,  who  recruited 
partisans  for  the  Monarchy,  and  gave  unity  to  their 
methods.    Exactly  similar  reports  came  from  La  Vendee, 


The  Ambuscade 


63 


where  conspiracy  was  rife  in  the  country  under  the 
guidance  of  four  well-known  leaders — the  Counts  of 
Fontaine,  Chatillon,  and  Suzannet,  and  the  Abbe  Vernal. 
In  Orne  their  correspondents  were  said  to  be  the  Chevalier 
de  Valois,  the  Marquis  of  Escrignon,  and  the  Troisvilles. 
The  real  head  and  centre  of  the  vast  and  formidable 
plan  of  operations,  that  gradually  became  manifest,  was 
the  Gars,  for  so  the  Chouans  had  dubbed  the  Marquis  of 
Montauran  since  his  arrival  among  them. 

Hulot's  dispatches  to  his  Government  were  found  to  be 
accurate  on  all  heads.  The  authority  of  the  newly 
arrived  commander  had  been  recognised  at  once.  The 
Marquis  had  even  sufficient  ascendency  over  the  Chouans 
to  make  them  understand  the  real  aim  of  the  war,  and  to 
persuade  them  that  the  excesses  of  which  they  had 
formerly  been  guilty,  sullied  the  generous  cause  which  they 
had  embraced.  The  cool  courage,  splendid  audacity, 
resource,  and  ability  of  the  young  noble  were  reviving  the 
hopes  of  the  foes  of  the  Republic,  and  had  excited  the 
sombre  enthusiasm  of  the  West  to  such  a  pitch  that  even 
the  most  lukewarm  were  ready  to  take  part  in  a  bold 
stroke  for  the  fallen  Monarchy.  Hulot's  repeated  reports 
and  appeals  received  no  reply  from  Paris  ;  some  fresh  revo- 
lutionary crisis,  no  doubt,  caused  the  astonishing  silence. 

'Are  appeals  to  the  Government  going  to  be  treated  like 
a  creditor's  duns  ? '  said  the  old  chief  to  his  friends.  c  Are 
all  our  petitions  shoved  out  of  sight  ? 9 

But  before  long  news  began  to  spread  of  the  magical 
return  of  General  Bonaparte,  and  the  events  of  the 
eighteenth  of  Brumaire.  Then  the  commanders  in  the 
West  began  to  understand  the  silence  of  the  ministers, 
while  they  grew  impatient  of  the  heavy  responsibilities 
that  weighed  upon  them,  and  eager  to  hear  what  steps  the 
new  Government  meant  to  take.  Great  was  the  joy  in 
the  army  when  it  became  known  that  General  Bonaparte 
had  been  nominated  First  Consul  of  the  Republic,  and  for 
the  first  time  they  saw  a  man  of  their  own  at  the  head  of 


64 


The  Chouans 


affairs.  France  had  made  an  idol  of  the  young  general, 
and  trembled  with  hope.  The  capital,  grown  weary  of 
gloom,  gave  itself  up  to  festivities  long  discontinued. 
The  first  acts  of  the  Consulate  abated  these  hopes  no 
whit,  and  gave  Liberty  no  qualms.  The  First  Consul 
issued  a  proclamation  to  the  dwellers  in  the  West. 
Bonaparte  had,  one  might  almost  say,  invented  the 
appeals  to  the  masses  which  produced  such  enormous 
effect  in  those  days  of  miracles  and  patriotism.  A 
prophetic  voice  it  was  which  filled  the  world,  for  victory 
had  never  yet  failed  to  follow  any  proclamation  of  his, 
4  Inhabitants ! 

c  For  the  second  time  an  unnatural  war  has  been 
kindled  in  the  departments  of  the  West. 

c  The  authors  of  these  troubles  are  traitors  in  the  pay 
of  England,  or  marauders  who  hope  to  secure  their  own 
ends,  and  to  enjoy  immunity  amid  civil  discords. 

'  To  such  men  as  these  the  Government  owes  neither 
consideration  nor  an  explanation  of  its  principles. 

c  But  there  are  other  citizens,  dear  to  their  country, 
who  have  been  seduced  by  their  artifices ;  to  these 
citizens,  enlightenment  and  a  knowledge  of  the  truth  is 
due. 

c  Unjust  laws  have  been  promulgated  and  carried  into 
effect.  The  security  of  citizens  and  their  right  to  liberty 
of  conscience  have  been  infringed  by  arbitrary  measures ; 
citizens  have  suffered  everywhere  from  mistaken  entries 
on  the  list  of  Emigrants,  great  principles  of  social  order 
have  been  violated. 

'The  Consuls  declare  that,  liberty  of  worship  being 
guaranteed  by  the  Constitution,  the  law  of  the  nth 
Prairial  Year  in.,  by  which  citizens  are  allowed  the  use 
of  buildings  erected  for  religious  worship,  shall  now  be 
carried  into  effect. 

4  The  Government  will  pardon  previous  offences  ;  it 
will  extend  mercy  and  absolute  and  complete  indemnity 
to  the  repentant ;  but  it  will  strike  down  any  who  shall 


fhe  Ambuscade 


65 


dare,  after  this  declaration,  to  resist  the  national 
sovereignty.' 

'Well,'  said  Hulot,  after  a  public  reading  of  the 
Consular  manifesto,  c  could  anything  be  more  paternal  ? 
But  for  all  that,  you  will  see  that  not  a  single  Royalist 
brigand  will  change  his  opinion  ! 9 

The  commandant  was  right.  The  proclamation  only 
confirmed  each  one  in  his  adherence  to  his  own  side. 
Reinforcements  for  Hulot  and  his  colleagues  arrived  a  few 
days  later.  They  were  notified  by  the  new  Minister  of 
War  that  General  Brune  was  about  to  assume  command 
in  the  West ;  but  in  the  meanwhile  Hulot,  as  an  officer 
known  to  be  experienced,  was  intrusted  with  the 
departments  of  the  Orne  and  Mayenne.  Every  Govern- 
ment department  showed  unheard-of  energy.  A  circular 
from  the  Minister  of  War  and  the  Minister-General  of 
Police  gave  out  that  active  efforts  were  to  be  made 
through  the  officers  in  command  to  stifle  the  insurrection 
at  its  place  of  origin.  But  by  this  time  the  Chouans  and 
Vendeans,  profiting  by  the  inaction  of  the  Republic,  had 
aroused  the  whole  country  and  made  themselves  masters 
of  it.    So  a  new  Consular  proclamation  had  to  be  issued. 

This  time  the  General  spoke  to  his  troops — 

c  Soldiers,  all  who  now  remain  in  the  West  are 
marauders  or  emigrants  in  the  pay  of  England. 

c  The  army  numbers  more  than  sixty  thousand  heroes  ; 
let  me  learn  soon  that  the  rebel  leaders  exist  no  longer. 
Glory  is  only  to  be  had  at  the  price  of  fatigue  ;  who  would 
not  acquire  it  if  it  were  to  be  gained  by  stopping  in 
town  quarters  ? 

c  Soldiers,  no  matter  what  your  rank  in  the  army,  the 
gratitude  of  the  nation  awaits  you.  To  be  worthy  of 
that  gratitude  you  must  brave  the  inclemency  of  the 
seasons,  frost  and  snow,  and  the  bitter  cold  of  winter 
nights  ;  you  must  surprise  your  enemies  at  daybreak  and 
destroy  those  wretches  who  disgrace  the  name  of 
Frenchmen. 

E 


66 


The  Chouans 


c  Let  the  campaign  be  short  and  sharp  ;  show  no  mercy 
to  the  marauders,  and  preserve  strict  discipline  among 
yourselves. 

c  National  Guards,  add  your  efforts  to  those  of  the 
troops  of  the  line. 

If  you  know  of  any  partisans  of  the  bandits  among 
yourselves,  arrest  them  !  Let  them  nowhere  find  a 
refuge  from  the  soldier  who  pursues  them ;  and  should 
traitors  dare  to  receive  and  protect  them,  let  both  alike 
perish  ! ' 

4  What  a  fellow  ! '  cried  Hulot ;  c  it  is  just  as  it  used  to 
be  in  Italy ;  first  he  rings  the  bells  for  mass,  and  then  he 
goes  and  says  it.    Isn 't  that  plain  speaking  ? ' 

c  Yes,  but  he  speaks  for  himself  and  in  his  own  name,' 
said  Gerard,  who  began  to  feel  some  concern  for  the 
results  of  the  eighteenth  of  Brumaire. 

c  Eh  !  Sainte  gueritey  what  does  it  matter  !  Isn 't  he  a 
soldier  ? '  cried  Merle. 

A  few  paces  away  some  soldiers  had  made  a  group 
about  the  placard  on  the  wall.  As  no  one  among  them 
could  read,  they  eyed  it,  some  with  curiosity,  others  with 
indifference,  while  one  or  two  looked  out  for  some  passing 
citizen  who  should  appear  scholar  enough  to  decipher 
it. 

c  What  does  that  scrap  of  paper  mean,  now,  Clef-des- 
Coeurs  ? '  asked  Beau-Pied  banteringly. 

*  It  is  quite  easy  to  guess,'  said  Clef-des-Coeurs.  Every- 
body looked  up  at  these  words  for  the  usual  comedy  to 
begin  between  the  two  comrades. 

4  Now  look  here,'  went  on  Clef-des-Coeurs,  pointing 
to  a  rough  vignette  at  the  head  of  the  proclamation, 
where  a  pair  of  compasses  had  in  the  past  few  days 
replaced  the  plumb-line  level  of  1793.  'That  means 
that  we  soldiers  will  have  to  step  out.  That's  why  the 
compasses  are  open  ;  it's  an  emblem.' 

'  No,  my  boy,  you  can't  come  the  scholar  over  us. 
That  thing  is  called  a  problem.    I  served  once  in  the 


The  Ambuscade 


67 


artillery,'  he  added,  c  and  that  was  what  my  officers  fairly 
lived  on.' 

'It's  an  emblem.' 

c  A  problem.' 

c  Let  us  lay  a  bet  on  it.' 

<  What  ? ' 

'  Will  you  stake  your  German  pipe  ? ' 
'Done!' 

c  No  offence  to  you,  sir ! 9  said  Clef-des-Cceurs  to 
Gerard  ;  '  but  isn't  that  an  emblem  and  not  a  problem  ? ' 

c  It  is  both  the  one  and  the  other,'  said  Gerard  gravely. 
He  was  musing  as  he  prepared  to  follow  Hulot  and  Merle. 

1  The  adjutant  is  laughing  at  us,'  said  Beau-Pied ; 
1  that  paper  says  that  our  general  in  Italy  has  been  made 
Consul,  which  is  a  fine  promotion,  and  we  are  all  to 
have  new  caps  and  shoes** 


H 


A  NOTION  OF  FOUCHE'S 

One  morning  towards  the  end  of  the  month  of  Brumaire, 
after  an  order  from  the  Government  had  concentrated 
Hulot's  troops  upon  Mayenne,  that  officer  was  engaged 
in  drilling  his  demi-brigade.  An  express  from  Alen^on 
arrived  with  dispatches,  which  he  read,  while  intense 
annoyance  expressed  itself  in  his  face. 

c  Come,  forward  ! '  he  cried  peevishly,  stuffing  the 
papers  into  his  hat.  c  Two  companies  are  to  set  out  with 
me  to  march  upon  Mortagne.  The  Chouans  are  there. 
You  shall  accompany  me,'  he  said,  turning  to  Merle  and 
Gerard.  'May  I  be  ennobled  if  I  understand  a  word  of 
this.  I  may  be  a  fool,  but  no  matter,  forward  !  There 
is  no  time  to  lose.' 

4  What  sort  of  fearful  fowl  could  come  out  of  that 
game  bag  ? 1  asked  Merle,  kicking  the  fallen  envelope. 

c  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  They  are  making  fools  of  us, 
that  is  all.' 

Whenever  this  expression,  explained  above,  escaped  the 
commandant,  it  always  meant  a  storm  of  some  sort.  The 
modulations  of  his  voice  when  he  uttered  this  phrase 
indicated  to  the  demi-brigade,  like  the  degrees  of  a 
thermometer,  the  amount  of  patience  left  in  their  chief ; 
and  the  outspoken  old  soldier  made  this  knowledge  so 
easy,  that  the  most  mischievous  drummer  could  take  his 
measure,  by  remarking  his  shades  of  manner  in  puckering 
up  his  cheek  and  winking.  This  time  the  suppressed 
anger  with  which  he  brought  out  the  word  silenced  his 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


69 


friends  and  made  them  circumspect.  The  pock-marks 
on  his  martial  countenance  seemed  deeper  and  darker 
than  usual.  As  he  put  on  his  three-cornered  hat,  his 
large  plaited  queue  had  slipped  round  upon  one  shoulder. 
Hulot  pushed  it  back  so  violently  that  the  little  curls 
were  unsettled.  However,  as  he  remained  motionless, 
with  his  arms  locked  across  his  chest  and  his  moustache 
a-bristle  with  rage,  Gerard  ventured  to  ask — 
4  Must  we  set  out  at  once  ? ' 

4  Yes,  if  the  cartridge-boxes  are  filled,'  he  growled  out. 
c  They  are  all  full.' 

4  Shoulder  arms  !  left  file  !  forward,  march  !  ?  ordered 
Gerard,  at  a  sign  from  Hulot. 

The  drums  headed  the  two  companies  chosen  by 
Gerard.  The  commandant,  plunged  in  his  own  thoughts, 
seemed  to  rouse  himself  at  the  sound,  and  went  out  of 
the  town  between  his  two  friends  without  a  word  to 
either.  Now  and  again  Merle  and  Gerard  looked  at 
each  other  as  if  to  say,  c  How  long  is  he  going  to  be 
sulky  with  us  ? 9  and  as  they  went  they  furtively  glanced 
at  Hulot,  who  muttered  chance  words  between  his  teeth. 

Something  very  like  an  oath  at  times  reached  the 
soldiers'  ears,  but  neither  dared  to  say  a  word,  for  on 
occasion  all  could  preserve  the  severe  discipline  to  which 
Bonaparte  had  accustomed  his  troops  in  Italy.  Hulot 
and  most  of  his  men  represented  all  that  was  left  of  the 
famous  battalions  who  surrendered  at  Mayence,  on  con- 
dition that  they  should  not  be  employed  upon  the 
frontiers;  and  the  army  had  nicknamed  them  the  May  en  fats. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  to  find  officers  and  men  who 
understood  each  other  better. 

The  earliest  hours  of  the  next  morning  found  Hulot 
and  his  friends  a  league  beyond  Alen^on  on  the  Mortagne 
side,  on  a  road  through  the  meadows  beside  the  Sarthe. 
On  the  left  lie  stretches  of  picturesque  lowland;  while  on 
the  right  the  dark  woods,  part  of  the  great  forest  of 
Menil-Broust,  form  a  set-off^  to  borrow  a  word  from  the 


7o 


The  Chouans 


studio,  to  the  lovely  views  of  the  river.  The  clearings 
of  the  ditches  on  either  hand,  which  are  constantly 
thrown  up  in  a  mound  on  their  further  sides,  form  high 
banks,  on  the  top  of  which  furze  bushes  grow,  ajoncs^  as 
they  call  them  in  the  West.  These  dense  bushes 
furnished  excellent  winter  fodder  for  horses  and  cattle, 
but  so  long  as  they  remained  uncut  the  dark-green  clumps 
served  as  hiding-places  for  Chouans.  These  banks  and 
furze  bushes,  signs  which  tell  the  traveller  that  he  is 
nearing  Brittany,  made  this  part  of  the  journey  in  those 
days  as  dangerous  as  it  was  beautiful. 

The  dangers  involved  by  a  journey  from  Mortagne  to 
Alen^on,  and  from  Alen^on  to  Mayenne,  had  caused 
Hulot's  departure,  and  now  the  secret  of  his  anger  finally 
escaped  him.  He  was  escorting  an  old  mail-coach 
drawn  by  post-horses,  which  the  weariness  of  the  soldiers 
compelled  to  move  at  a  foot  pace.  The  companies  of 
Blues,  belonging  to  the  garrison  of  Mortagne,  were 
visible  as  black  dots  in  the  distance  on  their  way  back 
thither  ;  they  had  accompanied  this  shocking  conveyance 
within  their  prescribed  limits,  and  here  Hulot  must 
succeed  them  in  the  service,  a  6  patriotic  bore,'  as  the 
soldiers  not  unjustly  called  it.  One  of  the  old  Republican's 
companies  took  up  its  position  a  little  in  front,  and  the 
other  a  little  behind  the  caleche ;  and  Hulot,  who  found 
himself  between  Merle  and  Gerard,  at  an  equal  distance 
from  the  vehicle  and  the  vanguard,  suddenly  said — 

t  Mille  Tonnerres  !  would  you  believe  that  the  general 
has  drafted  us  out  of  Mayenne  to  escort  a  couple  of 
petticoats  in  this  old  fourgon  ? 9 

cBut  not  so  long  since,  commandant,'  said  Gerard, 
c  when  we  took  up  our  position,  you  made  your  bow  to 
the  citoyennes  with  a  good  enough  grace.' 

c  Ah  !  that  is  the  worst  of  it !  Don't  these  dandies 
in  Paris  require  us  to  pay  the  greatest  attention  to  their 
damned  females?  How  can  they  bring  dishonour  on 
good  and  brave  patriots  like  us,  by  setting  us  to  dangle 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


71 


after  a  petticoat.  I  run  straight  myself,  and  I  don't  like 
crooked  ways  in  others.  When  I  saw  that  Danton  and 
Barras  had  mistresses,  I  used  to  say,  c  Citizens,  when  the 
Republic  called  on  you  to  govern,  it  was  not  that  you 
might  play  the  same  games  as  the  old  regime?  You  will 
say  now  that  women  ? — Oh,  one  must  have  women,  that 
is  right  enough.  Brave  men  must  have  women,  look 
you,  and  good  women  too.  But  when  things  grow 
serious,  prattling  ought  to  stop.  Why  did  we  sweep 
the  old  abuses  away  if  patriots  are  to  begin  them  again  ? 
Look  at  the  First  Consul  now,  that  is  a  man  for  you ;  no 
women,  always  at  work.  I  would  wager  my  left 
moustache  he  knows  nothing  of  this  foolish  business.' 

c  Really,  commandant,'  laughed  Merle,  c  I  have  seen 
the  tip  of  the  nose  of  the  young  lady  there  hidden  on  the 
back  seat,  and  I  am  sure  that  no  one  need  be  blamed  for 
feeling,  as  I  do,  a  sort  of  hankering  to  take  a  turn  round 
the  coach  and  have  a  scrap  of  conversation  with  the  ladies.' 

c  Look  out,  Merle  ! '  said  Gerard ;  c  there's  a  citizen 
along  with  the  pretty  birds  quite  sharp  enough  to  catch 
you.' 

c  Who  ?  The  incroyable^  whose  little  eyes  keep 
dodging  about  from  one  side  of  the  road  to  the  other,  as 
if  he  saw  Chouans  everywhere  ?  That  dandy,  whose  legs 
you  can  scarcely  see,  and  whose  head,  as  soon  as  his  horses' 
legs  are  hidden  behind  the  carriage,  sticks  up  like  a 
duck's  from  a  pie  ?  If  that  nincompoop  hinders  me  from 
stroking  the  pretty  white  throat  ' 

c  Duck  and  white  throat !  My  poor  Merle,  thy  fancy 
has  taken  wings  with  a  vengeance  !  Don't  be  too  sure 
of  the  duck.  His  green  eyes  are  as  treacherous  as  a 
viper's,  and  as  shrewd  as  a  woman's  when  she  pardons 
her  husband.  I  would  sooner  trust  a  Chouan  than  one 
of  these  lawyers  with  a  face  like  a  decanter  of  lemonade.' 

'Bah  ! '  cried  Merle  gaily.  'With  the  commandant's 
leave  I  shall  risk  it.  That  girl  has  eyes  that  shine  like 
stars  ;  one  might  run  all  hazards  for  a  sight  of  them.' 


72 


The  Chouans 


c  He  is  smitten  !  *  said  Gerard  to  the  commandant ;  c  he 
is  raving  already.' 

Hulot  made  his  grimace,  shrugged  his  shoulder,  and 
said — 

c  I  advise  him  to  smell  his  soup  before  he  takes  it.' 

*  Honest  Merle,  what  spirits  he  has  ! '  said  Gerard, 
judging  by  the  slackening  of  the  other's  pace  that  he 
meant  to  allow  the  coach  to  overtake  him.  c  He  is  the 
only  man  that  can  laugh  when  a  comrade  dies  without 
being  thought  heartless.' 

c  He  is  a  French  soldier  every  inch  of  him,'  said  Hulot 
gravely. 

c  Only  look  at  him,  pulling  his  epaulettes  over  his 
shoulders,  to  show  that  he  is  a  captain,'  cried  Gerard, 
laughing  j  cas  if  his  rank  would  do  anything  for  him 
there.' 

There  were,  in  fact,  two  women  in  the  vehicle  towards 
which  the  officer  turned  \  one  seemed  to  be  the  mistress, 
the  other  her  maid. 

c  That  sort  of  woman  always  goes  about  in  pairs,'  said 
Hulot. 

A  thin,  dried-up  little  man  hovered  sometimes  before, 
sometimes  behind  the  carriage ;  but  though  he  seemed  to 
accompany  the  two  privileged  travellers,  no  one  had  yet 
seen  either  of  them  speak  a  word  to  him.  This  silence, 
whether  respectful  or  contemptuous,  the  numerous  trunks 
and  boxes  belonging  to  the  princess^  as  he  called  her, 
everything,  down  to  the  costume  of  her  attendant  cavalier, 
helped  to  stir  Hulot's  bile. 

The  stranger's  dress  was  an  exact  picture  of  the 
fashions  of  the  time — of  the  Incroy  ablest  an  almost  burlesque 
pitch.  Imagine  a  man  muffled  up  in  a  coat  with  front 
so  short  that  five  or  six  inches  of  waistcoat  were  left  on 
view,  and  coat-tails  so  long  behind  that  they  resembled 
the  tail  of  the  cod-fish,  after  which  they  were  named.  A 
vast  cravat  wound  round  his  throat  in  such  numerous 
folds,  that  his  little  head  issuing  from  the  labyrinth  of 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


73 


muslin  almost  justified  Captain  Merle's  gastronomical 
simile.  The  stranger  wore  tight-fitting  breeches  and 
boots  a  la  Suwarrow.  A  huge  blue  and  white  cameo 
served  as  a  shirt-pin,  a  gold  watch  chain  hung  in  two 
parallel  lines  from  his  waist.  His  hair  hung  on  either 
side  of  his  face  in  corkscrew  ringlets,  which  almost 
covered  his  forehead  ;  while,  by  way  of  final  adornment, 
his  shirt  collar,  like  the  collar  of  his  coat,  rose  to  such  a 
height,  that  his  head  seemed  surrounded  by  it,  like  a 
bouquet  in  its  cornet  of  paper. 

Over  and  above  the  contrast  of  these  insignificant 
details,  all  at  odds  among  themselves  and  out  of  harmony, 
imagine  a  ludicrous  strife  of  colours,  yellow  breeches,  red 
waistcoat,  and  cinnamon-brown  coat,  and  you  will  form 
a  correct  notion  of  the  last  decrees  of  elegance,  as  obeyed 
by  dandies  in  the  early  days  of  the  Consulate.  This 
extravagantly  absurd  toilette  might  have  been  devised 
as  an  ordeal  for  comeliness,  or  to  demonstrate  that  there 
is  nothing  so  ridiculous  but  that  fashion  can  hallow  it. 
The  cavalier  seemed  to  be  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
though  in  reality  he  was  barely  two-and-twenty.  Hard 
living,  or  the  perils  of  the  times,  had  perhaps  brought  this 
about.  In  spite  of  his  fantastic  costume,  there  was  a 
certain  grace  of  manner  revealed  in  his  movements, 
which  singled  him  out  as  a  well-bred  man. 

As  the  captain  reached  the  coach,  the  young  exquisite 
seemed  to  guess  his  intentions,  and  assisted  them  by 
checking  his  own  horse.  Merle's  satirical  eyes  fell  upon 
an  impenetrable  face,  trained,  like  many  another,  by  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  Revolution,  to  hide  all  feeling,  even  of 
the  slightest.  The  moment  that  the  curved  edge  of  a 
shabby  cocked  hat  and  a  captain's  epaulettes  came 
within  the  ladies'  ken,  a  voice  of  angelic  sweetness 
asked  him — 

'Would  you  kindly  tell  us  where  we  are  now, 
Monsieur  VOfficier  ? ' 

There  is  an  indescribable  charm  in  such  a  ques- 


74 


The  Chouans 


tion  by  the  way,  a  whole  adventure  seems  to  lurk  behind 
a  single  word  ;  and  furthermore,  if  the  lady,  by  reason 
of  weakness  or  lack  of  experience,  asks  for  some  pro- 
tecting aid,  does  not  every  man  feel  an  inward  prompt- 
ing to  weave  fancies  of  an  impossible  happiness  for 
himself  ?  So  the  polite  formality  of  her  question,  and 
her  4  Monsieur  TQjJicierJ  vaguely  perturbed  the  captain's 
heart.  He  tried  to  distinguish  the  lady's  face,  and  was 
singularly  disappointed  \  a  jealous  veil  hid  her  features, 
he  could  scarcely  see  her  eyes  gleaming  behind  the 
gauze,  like  two  agates  lit  up  by  the  sun. 

c  You  are  now  within  a  league  of  Alen^on,  madame.' 

c  Alen^on,  already  ! '  and  the  strangei  lady  fell  back 
in  the  carriage  without  making  any  further  reply. 

c  Alen^on  ? '  repeated  the  other  woman,  who  seemed 
to  rouse  herself.   4  You  are  going  to  revisit  ' 

She  looked  at  the  captain  and  checked  herself.  Merle, 
disappointed  in  his  hope  of  a  sight  of  the  fair  stranger,  took 
a  look  at  her  companion.  She  was  a  young  woman  of  some 
twenty-six  years  of  age,  fair-haired,  well-shaped,  with  the 
freshness  of  complexion  and  unfading  brightness  of  colour 
which  distinguishes  the  women  of  Valognes,  Bayeux,  and 
the  Alen^on  district.  Sprightliness  there  was  not  in  the 
expression  of  her  blue  eyes,  but  a  certain  steadfastness  and 
tenderness.  She  wore  a  dress  of  some  common  material. 
Her  way  of  wearing  her  hair,  modestly  gathered  up  and 
fastened  under  a  little  cap  such  as  peasant  women  wear  in 
the  Pays-de-Caux,  made  her  face  charming  in  its  simplicity. 
There  was  none  of  the  conventional  grace  of  the  salons  in 
her  manner,  but  she  was  not  without  the  dignity  natural 
to  a  young  girl  who  could  contemplate  the  scenes  of  her 
past  life  without  finding  any  matter  for  repentance  in  them. 

At  a  glance,  Merle  recognised  in  her  one  of  those 
country  blossoms  which  have  lost  none  of  their  pure 
colouring  and  rustic  freshness,  although  they  have  been 
transplanted  into  the  hothouses  of  Paris,  where  the 
withering  glare  of  many  rays  of  light  has  been  brought 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


75 


to  bear  upon  them.  Her  quiet  looks  and  unaffected 
manner  made  it  plain  to  Merle  that  she  did  not  wish  for 
an  audience.  Indeed,  when  he  fell  away,  the  two  women 
began  a  conversation  in  tones  so  low  that  the  murmur 
scarcely  reached  his  ears. 

c  You  set  out  in  such  haste,'  said  the  young  country- 
woman, c  that  you  had  barely  time  to  dress.  A  pretty 
sight  you  are  !  If  we  are  going  any  farther  than  Alen^on, 
you  will  really  have  to  change  your  dress  there.  .  .  / 

i  Oh,  oh,  Francine  !  '  said  the  other. 

c  What  do  you  say  ? ' 

c  This  is  the  third  time  that  you  have  tried  to  learn 
where  we  are  going,  and  why.' 

c  Have  I  said  anything  whatever  to  deserve  this  reproof?' 

c  Oh,  I  have  noticed  your  little  ways.  Simple  and 
straightforward  as  you  used  to  be,  you  have  learned  a 
little  strategy  of  my  teaching.  You  begin  to  hold  direct 
questions  in  abhorrence.  Quite  right,  my  child.  Of 
all  known  methods  of  getting  at  a  secret,  that  one  is,  in 
my  opinion,  the  most  futile.' 

1  Very  well,'  said  Francine,  4  as  one  cannot  hide  any- 
thing from  you,  admit  at  least,  Marie,  that  your  doings 
would  make  a  saint  inquisitive.  Yesterday  morning  you 
had  nothing  whatever,  to-day  you  have  gold  in  plenty. 
At  Mortagne  they  assign  the  mail  coach  to  you  which 
has  just  been  robbed  and  lost  its  driver;  you  are  given 
an  escort  by  the  Government ;  and  a  man  whom  I  regard 
as  your  evil  genius  is  following  you.' 

6  Who,  Corentin  ? '  .  .  .  asked  her  companion,  throw- 
ing emphasis  into  the  two  words  by  separate  intonations 
of  her  voice.  There  was  a  contempt  in  it  that  overflowed 
even  into  the  gesture  by  which  she  indicated  the  horse- 
man. c  Listen,  Francine,'  she  went  on,  4  do  you  remem- 
ber Patriot,  the  monkey  that  I  taught  to  mimic  Danton, 
and  which  amused  us  so  much  ? ' 

•  Yes,  mademoiselle.' 

i  Were  you  afraid  of  him  ? ' 


76 


The  Chouans 


'But  he  was  chained  up.' 

'  And  Corentin  is  muzzled,  my  child.' 

c  We  used  to  play  with  Patriot  for  hours  together,  I 
know,'  said  Francine,  c  but  he  always  played  us  some 
ugly  trick  at  last.' 

And  Francine  flung  herself  suddenly  back  in  the 
carriage,  and  taking  her  mistress's  hands,  stroked  them 
caressingly,  as  she  went  on  tenderly — 

*  But  you  know  what  is  in  my  thoughts,  Marie,  and 
yet  you  say  nothing  to  me.  After  the  sorrows  which 
have  given  me  so  much  pain  (ah,  how  much  pain  !),  how 
should  twenty-four  hours  put  you  in  such  spirits,  wild  as 
the  moods  when  you  used  to  talk  of  taking  your  life  ? 
What  has  brought  the  change  about  ?  You  owe  me 
some  account  of  yourself.  You  belong  to  me  rather 
than  to  any  other  whatever,  for  you  will  never  be  better 
loved  than  by  me.    Tell  me,  mademoiselle  ! 1 

4  Very  well,  Francine  ;  do  you  not  see  all  about  us  the 
cause  of  my  high  spirits  ?  Look  at  those  clumps  of  trees 
over  there,  yellow  and  sere,  no  one  like  another.  Seen 
from  a  distance,  might  they  not  be  a  bit  of  old  tapestry 
in  some  chateau  ?  See  these  hedges  behind  which 
Chouans  might  be  met  with  at  any  moment ;  as  I  look 
at  those  tufts  of  gorse  I  seem  to  see  the  barrels  of  muskets. 
I  enjoy  this  succession  of  perils  about  us.  Every  time 
that  there  is  a  deeper  shadow  across  the  road,  I  think  to 
hear  the  report  of  firearms,  and  my  heart  beats  with 
an  excitement  I  have  never  felt  before.  It  is  neither 
fear  nor  pleasure  that  moves  me  so ;  it  is  a  better  thing  ; 
it  is  the  free  play  of  all  that  stirs  within  me ;  it  is  life. 
How  should  I  not  be  glad  to  have  revived  my  own 
existence  a  little  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  you  are  telling  me  nothing,  hard  heart  ! 
Holy  Virgin,  to  whom  will  she  confess  if  not  to  me  ? 9 
said  Francine,  sadly  raising  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

c  Francine,'  her  companion  answered  gravely, c  I  cannot 
tell  you  about  my  enterprise.   It  is  too  horrible  this  time.' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche  s 


77 


1  But  why  do  evil  with  your  eyes  open  ?  * 

4  What  would  you  have  ?  I  detect  myself  thinking 
like  a  woman  of  fifty  and  acting  like  a  girl  of  fifteen. 
You  have  always  been  my  better  self,  my  poor  girl,  but 
this  time  I  must  stifle  my  conscience  .  .  .'  she  paused 
as  a  sigh  escaped  her,  .  .  .  c  and  I  shall  not  succeed. 
But  how  can  I  keep  such  a  strict  confessor  beside  me  ?' 
and  she  softly  tapped  the  other's  hand. 

4  Ah  !  when  have  I  reproached  you  with  anything?' 
cried  Francine.  4  Evil  in  you  has  so  much  grace  with  it. 
Yes,  Saint  Anne  of  Auray,  to  whom  I  pray  so  often 
for  you,  will  absolve  you.  And  for  the  rest,  am  I  not 
come  beside  you  now,  though  I  do  not  know  where 
your  way  is  taking  you  ?  ' 

She  kissed  her  mistress's  hands  with  this  outburst. 

4  But  you  can  leave  me,'  said  Marie,  4  if  your 
conscience  ' 

4  Not  another  word,  madame,'  said  Francine  with  a 
little  sorrowful  twitch  of  the  lips.  4  Oh,  will  you  not 
tell  me  ' 

4  Nothing  ! 9  said  the  young  lady  firmly.  4  Only,  be 
sure  of  this,  that  the  enterprise  is  even  more  odious  to 
me  than  the  smooth-tongued  creature  who  explained  its 
nature.  I  wish  to  be  candid ;  so  to  you  I  confess  that 
I  would  not  have  lent  myself  to  their  wishes  if  I 
had  not  seen,  in  this  ignoble  farce,  some  gleams  of 
mingled  love  and  terror  which  attracted  me.  Then  I 
would  not  leave  this  vile  world  without  an  effort  to 
gather  the  flowers  I  look  for  from  it,  even  if  I  must 
die  for  them  !  But,  remember,  for  it  is  due  to  my 
memory,  that  had  my  life  been  happy,  that  great  knife 
of  theirs  held  above  my  head  would  never  have  forced 
me  to  take  a  part  in  this  tragedy,  for  tragedy  it  is.'  A 
gesture  of  disgust  escaped  her ;  then  she  went  on, 
4  But  now,  if  the  piece  were  to  be  withdrawn,  I  should 
throw  myself  into  the  Sarthe,  and  that  would  be  in  no 
sense  a  suicide,  for  as  yet  I  have  not  lived.' 


78 


The  Chouans 


c  Oh,  holy  Virgin  of  Auray,  forgive  her  ! * 
6  What  are  you  afraid  of?  The  dreary  ups  and 
downs  of  domestic  life  arouse  no  emotions  in  me,  as  you 
know.  This  is  ill  in  a  woman,  but  my  soul  has  loftier 
capacities,  in  order  to  abide  mightier  trials.  I  should 
have  been,  perhaps,  a  gentle  creature  like  you.  Why 
am  I  so  much  above  or  below  other  women  ?  Ah, 
how  happy  is  the  wife  of  General  Bonaparte  !  But  I 
shall  die  young,  for  even  now  I  have  come  not  to  shrink 
from  that  kind  of  pleasure  which  means  "  drinking 
blood,"  as  poor  Danton  used  to  say.  Now  forget  all 
this  that  the  woman  of  fifty  within  me  says.  The  girl 
of  fifteen  will  soon  reappear,  thank  Heaven  ! 9 


The  younger  woman  shuddered.  She  alone  under- 
stood the  fiery  and  impetuous  nature  of  her  mistress ; 
she  only  had  been  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  an 
inner  life  full  of  lofty  imaginings,  the  ideas  of  a  soul  for 
whom  life  had  hitherto  seemed  intangible  as  a  shadow 
which  she  longed  to  grasp.  There  had  been  no  harvest 
after  all  her  sowings ;  her  nature  had  never  been  touched ; 
she  was  harassed  by  futile  longings,  wearied  by  a  struggle 
without  an  opponent,  so  that  in  despair  she  had  come  to 
prefer  good  to  evil  if  it  came  as  an  enjoyment,  and  evil 
to  good  if  only  an  element  of  poetry  lurked  behind,  to 
prefer  wretchedness  as  something  grander  than  a  life 
of  narrow  comfort,  and  death,  with  its  dark  uncertainties, 
to  an  existence  of  starved  hopes  or  insignificant  suffer- 
ings. Never  has  so  much  powder  awaited  the  spark, 
such  wealth  lain  in  store  for  love  to  consume,  so  much  gold 
been  mingled  with  the  clay  in  a  daughter  of  Eve.  Over 
this  nature  Francine  watched  like  an  angel  on  earth, 
worshipping  its  perfection,  feeling  that  she  should 
fulfil  her  mission  if  she  preserved,  for  the  choir  above,  this 
seraph,  kept  afar  as  an  expiation  of  the  sin  of  pride. 

c  That  is  the  steeple  of  Alen^on,'  said  their  cavalier,  as 
he  drew  near  to  the  coach. 
*  So  I  see,'  said  the  lady  drily, 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


79 


c  Very  well  !  9  he  said,  and  fell  back  again  with  all  the 
tokens  of  abject  submission,  in  spite  of  his  disappointment. 

c  Quicker  ! '  cried  the  lady  to  the  postilion.  c  There  is 
nothing  to  fear  now  !  Go  on  at  a  trot  or  a  gallop  if  you 
can.   We  are  on  the  causeway  of  Alen^on,  are  we  not  ? ' 

As  she  passed  him  she  called  graciously  to  Hulot — 

4  We  shall  meet  each  other  at  the  inn,  commandant. 
Come  and  see  me.' 

cJust  so,'  he  replied ;  c  <c  I  am  going  to  the  inn,  come  and 
see  me  ! 99  That  is  the  way  to  speak  to  the  commandant 
of  a  demi-brigade.' 

He  jerked  his  fist  in  the  direction  of  the  vanishing 
coach. 

c  Don't  grumble,  commandant,'  said  Coren tin,  laughing ; 
c  she  has  your  general's  commission  in  her  sleeve,'  and  he 
tried  to  put  his  horse  to  a  gallop,  to  overtake  the  coach. 

c  Those  good  folk  shall  not  make  a  fool  of  me,'  growled 
Hulot  to  his  two  friends.  c 1  would  sooner  fling  my 
general's  uniform  into  a  ditch  than  get  it  through  a 
woman's  favour.  What  do  the  geese  mean  ?  Do  you 
understand  their  drift,  either  of  you  ? ' 

*  Quite  well,'  said  Merle ;  c  I  know  that  she  is  the 
handsomest  woman  I  ever  set  eyes  on  !  You  don't 
understand  figures  of  speech,  I  think.  Perhaps  it  is  the 
First  Consul's  wife.' 

*  Stuff,  his  wife  is  not  young,  and  this  one  is,'  answered 
Hulot.  c  Besides,  the  orders  I  have  received  from  the 
minister  inform  me  that  she  is  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  She  is 
a  ci-devant.  Don't  I  know  that !  They  used  to  carry 
on  like  this  before  the  Revolution  ;  you  could  be  a  chief  of 
demi-brigade  in  a  brace  of  shakes.  You  had  only  to  say 
to  them  c  Mon  cosur !  '  once  or  twice,  with  the  proper 
emphasis. 

As  each  soldier  c  stepped  out,'  to  use  their  com- 
mandant's phrase,  the  wretched  vehicle  which  then 
served  for  a  mail  coach  had  quickly  reached  the  sign  of 
the  Three  Moors  in  the  middle  of  the  principal  street  of 


8o 


The  Chouans 


Alen^on.  The  rattle  of  the  crazy  conveyance  brought 
the  landlord  to  the  threshold.  Nobody  in  Alen^on  had 
expected  that  chance  would  bring  the  coach  to  the  sign  of 
the  Three  Moors ;  but  the  horrible  event  at  Mortagne 
brought  out  so  many  people  to  look  at  it,  that  its  occu- 
pants, to  escape  the  general  curiosity,  fled  into  the  kitchen, 
the  ante-chamber  of  every  inn  throughout  the  West. 
The  host  was  preparing  to  follow  them  after  a  look  at  the 
coach,  when  the  postilion  caught  his  arm. 

c  Look  here,  citizen  Brutus,'  he  said ; c  there  is  an  escort 
of  Blues  on  the  way.  As  there  was  neither  driver  nor 
dispatches,  it  was  my  doing  that  the  citoyennes  came  to 
you.  Of  course,  they  will  pay  like  ci-devant  princesses  ; 
and  so  

c  And  so  we  will  have  a  glass  of  wine  together  directly, 
my  boy,'  said  the  landlord. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  one  glance  round  the  smoke- 
blackened  kitchen,  and  at  the  stains  of  raw  meat  on  the 
table,  and  then  fled  like  a  bird  into  the  next  room.  For 
the  appearance  and  odour  of  the  place  dismayed  her  quite 
as  much  as  the  inquisitive  looks  which  a  slovenly  cook  and 
a  short,  stout  woman  fastened  upon  her. 

c  Howare  we  going  to  manage,  wife  ? '  said  the  landlord. 
*  Who  the  devil  would  think  so  many  people  would  come 
here  as  times  go  now  ?  She  will  never  have  the  patience 
to  wait  till  I  can  serve  her  up  a  suitable  meal.  My  word, 
I  have  hit  upon  it;  they  belong  to  the  quality,  why 
shouldn't  they  breakfast  with  the  lady  upstairs,  eh  ? ' 

When  the  host  looked  about  for  the  new-comers,  he 
found  only  Francine,  whom  he  drew  to  the  side  of  the 
kitchen  nearest  the  yard,  so  that  no  one  could  overhear 
him,  and  said — 

cIf  the  ladies  wish  to  breakfast  by  themselves,  as  I 
expect  they  do,  I  have  a  very  nice  meal  now  ready  for  a 
lady  and  her  son.  They  would  not  object,  of  course,  to 
breakfasting  with  you,'  he  went  on  mysteriously.  *  They 
are  people  of  quality  ' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


81 


The  words  were  hardly  out  before  the  landlord  felt  a 
light  blow  on  the  back  from  a  whip-handle ;  he  turned 
quickly  and  saw  behind  him  a  short,  thick-set  man,  who 
had  come  in  noiselessly  from  a  closet  adjoining.  The 
stout  woman,  the  cook,  and  his  assistant  seemed  frozen 
with  terror  by  this  apparition.  The  landlord  turned  his 
head  away  aghast.  The  short  man  shook  aside  the  hair 
which  covered  his  eyes  and  forehead  and  stood  on  tiptoe 
to  whisper  in  the  landlord's  ear — 

c  You  know  what  any  blabbing  or  imprudence  lays  you 
open  to,  and  the  colour  of  the  money  we  pay  in.  We 

never  grudge  it  9    A  gesture  rendered  his  meaning 

horribly  clear. 

The  stout  person  of  the  landlord  hid  the  speaker,  but 
Francine  caught  a  word  here  and  there  of  his  muttered 
talk,  and  stood  as  if  thunderstruck  as  she  listened  to  the 
hoarse  sounds  of  a  Breton  voice.  Amid  the  general  dis- 
may she  sprang  towards  the  speaker,  but  he  had  darted 
through  a  side  door  into  the  yard  with  the  quickness  of  a 
wild  animal.  Francine  thought  that  she  must  be 
mistaken,  for  she  could  only  see  what  appeared  to  be  the 
brindled  fell  of  a  fair-sized  bear. 

She  ran  to  the  window  in  surprise,  and  gazed  after  the 
figure  through  the  grimy  panes.  He  was  slouching  off 
to  the  stable  ;  but  before  he  entered,  he  bent  two  piercing 
black  eyes  upon  the  first  story  of  the  inn,  and  then  turned 
them  on  the  coach,  as  if  he  wished  to  call  the  attention 
of  some  one  within  to  some  point  of  special  interest  about 
it. 

Thanks  to  this  manoeuvre,  which  displayed  his  face, 
Francine  recognised  the  Chouan  as  Marche-a-Terre, 
despite  his  goatskin  cloak,  by  his  heavy  whip,  and  the 
lagging  gait,  which  he  could  quicken  upon  occasion.  She 
watched  him  still  even  through  the  dimness  of  the  stable, 
where  he  lay  down  in  a  heap  among  the  straw,  in  a  spot 
whence  he  could  see  all  that  went  on  in  the  inn.  Even 
at  close  quarters  an  experienced  spy  might  have  taken  him 

F 


82 


The  Chouans 


for  a  big  carter's  dog  curled  round,  asleep,  with  his 
muzzle  between  his  paws.  His  conduct  convinced 
Francine  that  he  had  not  recognised  her.  In  her 
mistress's  difficult  position,  she  hardly  knew  whether  this 
was  a  relief  or  an  annoyance.  But  her  curiosity  was 
whetted  by  the  mysterious  connection  between  the 
Chouan's  threat  and  the  landlord's  proposal,  for  an 
innkeeper  is  always  ready  to  stop  two  mouths  with  one 
morsel. 

She  left  the  dingy  window,  whence  she  had  seen 
Marche-a-Terre  as  a  shapeless  heap  in  the  darkness,  and 
turned  to  the  landlord,  who  stood  like  a  man  who  has 
made  a  false  step  and  cannot  see  how  to  retrieve  it.  The 
Chouan's  gesture  had  petrified  the  poor  fellow.  Every 
one  in  the  West  knew  how  the  Chasseurs  du  Roi  visited 
even  a  suspicion  of  indiscretion  with  cruel  refinements 
of  torture.  The  landlord  seemed  to  feel  their  knives  at 
his  throat.  The  chef  stared  in  terror  at  the  hearth, 
where  too  often  they  '  warmed  the  feet 9  of  their 
victims.  The  stout  woman  ceased  to  pare  a  potato,  and 
gaped  stupidly  at  her  husband,  while  the  scullion  tried  to 
guess  the  meaning  of  this  mute  terror.  Francine's 
curiosity  was  naturally  roused  by  all  this  dumb-show, 
with  the  principal  performer  absent  though  still  visible. 
The  Chouan's  terrible  power  pleased  her  ;  and  although 
it  hardly  lay  in  her  meek  nature  to  play  the  abigail,  for 
once  she  was  too  deeply  interested  not  to  use  her  oppor- 
tunities for  penetrating  this  mystery. 

c  Very  good,  mademoiselle  accepts  your  offer,'  she  said 
gravely.  At  her  words  the  landlord  started  as  if  from  sleep. 

( What  offer  ? '  he  asked  in  real  surprise. 

4  What  offer  ? '  asked  Corentin  as  he  came  in, 

4  What  offer  ? 9  asked  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

c  What  offer  ? 9  asked  a  fourth  person  from  the  foot  of 
the  staircase,  as  he  sprang  into  the  kitchen. 

4  Why,  to  breakfast  with  your  people  of  distinction,' 
answered  Francine  impatiently. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  83 

*  People  of  distinction,' said  the  arrival  from  the  staircase, 
in  caustic  and  mocking  tones ;  c  this  is  one  of  your  land- 
lord's jokes,  and  a  very  poor  one  ;  but  if  it  is  this  young 
citoyenne  whom  you  wish  to  add  to  our  party,'  he  added, 
looking  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  c  it  would  be  folly  to 
decline,  my  good  fellow.  In  my  mother's  absence  I 
accept,'  and  he  clapped  the  bewildered  landlord  on  the 
shoulder. 

The  careless  grace  of  youth  concealed  the  insolent 
pride  of  his  words,  which  naturally  drew  the  attention  of 
those  present  to  the  new  actor  in  the  scene.  The  host 
put  on  the  face  of  Pilate  at  this,  washing  his  hands  of 
the  death  of  Christ  ;  he  stepped  back  and  whispered 
to  his  plump  wife — 

*  You  are  my  witness,  that  if  anything  goes  wrong, 
I  am  not  to  blame.  But,  at  all  events,'  he  added  in  still 
lower  tones,  c  let  M.  Marche-a-Terre  know  everything.' 

The  new-comer  was  of  middle  height,  and  wore  the 
uniform  of  the  c  Ecole  poly  technique,'  a  blue  coat  without 
epaulettes,  breeches  of  the  same  material,  and  black 
gaiters  that  reached  above  the  knee.  In  spite  of  this 
sombre  costume,  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  recognised  at 
a  glance  the  grace  of  his  figure  and  an  indescribable 
something  which  indicated  noble  birth.  At  first  sight 
there  was  nothing  remarkable  in  his  face,  but  some- 
thing in  his  features  soon  made  it  felt  that  he  was 
capable  of  great  things.  A  sun-burned  face,  fair  and 
curling  hair,  brilliant  blue  eyes,  and  a  delicately  cut  nose, 
all  these  traits,  like  the  ease  of  his  movements,  revealed  a 
life  subordinated  to  lofty  sentimentsanda  mind  accustomed 
to  command.  The  feature  that  most  clearly  revealed  his 
character  was  a  chin  like  Bonaparte's,  or  a  mouth  where 
the  lower  lip  met  the  upper  in  a  curve  like  that  of  some 
acanthus  leaf  on  a  Corinthian  capital ;  there  Nature  had 
exerted  all  her  powers  of  magic. 

c  This  young  man  is  no  ordinary  Republican,'  said 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  herself. 


84 


The  Chouans 


She  understood  everything  in  a  moment,  and  the  wish 
to  please  awoke  in  her.  She  bent  her  head  a  little  to  one 
side  with  a  coquettish  smile,  and  the  dark  eyes  shot  forth 
one  of  those  velvet  glances  that  would  awaken  life  in  a 
heart  dead  to  love  ;  then  the  heavy  eyelids  fell  over  her 
black  eyes,  and  their  thick  lashes  made  a  curved  line  of 
shadow  on  her  cheeks  as  she  said,  6  We  are  very  much 
obliged  to  you,  sir,'  imparting  a  thrill  to  the  conventional 
phrase  by  the  most  musical  tones  her  voice  could  give. 
All  this  by-play  took  place  in  less  time  than  it  takes  to 
describe  it,  and  at  once  Mile,  de  Verneuil  turned  to  the 
landlord,  asked  for  her  room,  found  the  staircase,  and  dis- 
appeared with  Francine,  leaving  the  stranger  to  decide 
whether  or  no  she  had  accepted  his  invitation. 

c  Who  is  the  woman  ? '  asked  the  pupil  of  the  Ecole 
poly  technique  of  the  still  further  embarrassed  and  motion- 
less landlord. 

'She  is  the  citoyenne  Verneuil,'  answered  Corentin 
tartly,  as  he  ran  his  eyes  over  the  other  jealously.  6  What 
makes  you  ask  ? 9 

The  stranger  hummed  a  Republican  air,  and  raised  his 
head  haughtily  at  Corentin.  The  two  young  men 
looked  at  one  another  for  a  moment  like  game-cocks 
about  to  fight,  and  at  a  glance  an  undying  hatred  of  each 
other  dawned  in  them  both.  For  the  frank  gaze  of  the 
soldier's  blue  eyes  there  shone  malice  and  deceit  in 
Corentin's  green  orbs.  The  one  naturally  possessed  a 
gracious  manner,  the  other  could  only  substitute  insinua- 
ting dexterity  of  address ;  the  first  would  have  rushed 
forward  where  the  other  slunk  back.  The  one  com- 
manded the  respect  that  the  other  sought  to  obtain  ;  the 
first  seemed  to  say,  '  Let  us  conquer !  '  the  second,  c  Let 
us  divide  the  spoil ! ' 

c  Is  the  citizen  du  Gua  St.-Cyr  here  ? '  asked  a  peasant 
at  the  door. 

'  What  do  you  want  with  him  ? '  asked  the  voung  man, 
coming  forward. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


85 


The  peasant  made  a  deep  reverence  and  handed  him  a 
letter,  which  the  young  man  read  and  threw  into  the 
fire.  He  nodded  by  way  of  answer,  and  the  peasant 
went  away. 

'You  have  come  from  Paris,  no  doubt,  citizen  H  said 
Corentin,  coming  up  to  him  with  a  familiar  and  cringing 
complaisance  that  the  citizen  du  Gua  could  hardly  endure. 

6  Yes,'  he  replied  drily. 

c  Some  appointment  in  the  artillery,  I  expect.' 
6  No,  citizen,  in  the  navy.' 

4  Ah !  then  you  are  going  to  Brest,'  said  Corentin  care- 
lessly, but  the  young  sailor  turned  away  quickly  on  his 
heel  without  replying. 

He  soon  disappointed  the  fair  expectations  that  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  had  formed  of  him.  A  puerile  interest  in 
his  breakfast  absorbed  him.  He  discussed  recipes  with 
the  chef  and  the  landlady,  opened  his  eyes  at  provincial 
ways  like  a  fledgling  Parisian  picked  out  of  his  enchanted 
shell,  affected  repugnances,  and  altogether  showed  a 
weakness  of  mind  that  one  would  not  have  expected  from 
his  appearance.  Corentin  smiled  pityingly  as  he  turned 
up  his  nose  at  the  best  cider  in  Normandy. 

'  Faugh  ! '  he  cried,  c  how  do  you  manage  to  swallow 
that  stuff?  One  could  eat  and  drink  it  too.  No  wonder 
the  Republic  suspects  a  district  where  they  bang  the  trees 
with  long  poles  for  their  vintage,  and  lie  in  wait  to  shoot 
travellers  on  the  roads.  Don't  put  that  physic  on  the 
table  for  us,  but  give  us  some  good  Bordeaux  wine,  both 
white  and  red,  and  see,  above  all  things,  that  there  is  a 
good  fire  upstairs.  Civilisation  is  a  long  way  behind 
hereabouts,  it  seems  to  me.  Ah  !  *  he  sighed,  c  there  is 
but  one  Paris  in  the  world,  and  it  is  a  pity  indeed  that 
one  cannot  take  it  afloat  with  one.  Hullo,  spoil-sauce,' 
he  cried  to  the  cook, c  do  you  mean  to  say  you  are  putting 
vinegar  into  the  fricassee  when  there  are  lemons  at  hand  ? 
And  your  sheets,  madam  landlady,  were  so  coarse,  that 
I  scarcely  slept  a  wink  all  night.' 


86 


The  Chouans 


He  then  betook  himself  to  playing  with  a  large  cane, 
performing  with  childish  gravity  a  number  of  evolutions, 
which  decided  the  place  of  a  youth  among  Incroyables  by 
the  degree  of  skill  and  neatness  with  which  they  were 
executed. 

1  And  out  of  whipper-snappers  like  that  the  Republic 
hopes  to  construct  a  navy,'  said  Corentin  confidentially, 
as  he  scanned  the  landlord's  face. 

c  That  man  is  one  of  Fouche's  spies,'  whispered  the 
sailor  to  the  landlady.  c  I  see  it  in  every  line  of  his  face. 
I  would  swear  that  he  brought  that  splash  of  mud  on  his 
chin  from  Paris.    But  set  a  thief  to  catch  ' 

A  lady  entered  the  kitchen  as  he  spoke,  whom  he 
greeted  with  every  outward  sign  of  respect. 

1  Come  here,  chere  maman]  he  cried  \  4 1  think  I  have 
found  some  one  to  share  our  meal.' 

4  To  share  our  meal !    What  nonsense  !  9  she  replied. 

4  It  is  Mile,  de  Verneuil,'  he  said,  lowering  his  voice. 

'She  perished  on  the  scaffold  after  the  Savenay  affair; 
she  had  come  to  Mans  to  save  her  brother,  the  Prince  de 
Loudon,'  said  his  mother  shortly. 

*  You  are  mistaken,  madame,'  said  Corentin  amiably, 
and  with  a  little  pause  on  the  word  madame.  c  There  is  a 
second  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil.  Great  families  have 
always  several  branches.' 

Surprised  at  his  freedom,  the  lady  drew  back  a  pace  or 
two,  as  if  to  scrutinise  this  unlooked-for  speaker.  She 
bent  her  dark  eyes  upon  him  as  if  she  would  divine,  with 
a  woman's  keen  power  of  apprehension,  why  he  affirmed 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  be  yet  in  existence.  Corentin,  who 
at  the  same  time  furtively  studied  the  lady,  refused  her 
the  pleasures  of  maternity  to  endow  her  with  those  of 
love. 

He  gallantly  declined  to  believe  her  to  be  the  happy 
mother  of  a  son  twenty  years  of  age,  seeing  her  dazzling 
complexion,  her  thick  arching  eyebrows,  her  still  abundant 
eyelashes,  which  excited  his  admiration,  and  her  wealth  of 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


87 


black  tresses,  divided  on  the  forehead  into  two  bandeaux, 
a  style  which  enhanced  the  youthfulness  of  a  sprightly 
face.  It  was  the  force  of  passion,  he  thought,  and  by  no 
means  time,  that  had  set  faint  lines  on  her  forehead  ;  and 
if  the  piercing  eyes  drooped  somewhat,  this  might  be  due 
rather  to  the  constant  expression  of  lively  feelings  than 
to  the  weariness  of  her  pilgrimage.  Corentin  then  dis- 
covered that  the  cloak  she  wore  was  of  English  materials, 
and  that  her  bonnet  followed  some  foreign  fashion,  and 
was  not  in  the  mode,  called  a  la  Grecque^  which  ruled 
Parisian  toilettes. 

Corentin's  nature  always  led  him  to  suspect  evil  rather 
than  good,  and  he  began  at  once  to  have  his  doubts  as  to 
the  patriotism  of  the  pair ;  while  the  lady,  who  had  as 
rapidly  come  to  her  own  conclusions  about  Corentin, 
looked  at  her  son,  as  if  to  say,  c  Who  is  this  quiz  ?  Is 
he  on  our  side  ? '  To  this  implied  question,  the  young 
man's  manner  replied,  like  his  look  and  gesture,  c  I  know 
nothing  about  him,  upon  my  word,  and  you  cannot 
suspect  him  as  much  as  I  do.'  Then,  leaving  it  to  his 
mother  to  discover  the  mystery,  he  went  up  and  whispered 
to  the  hostess — 

c  Try  to  find  out  who  the  rogue  is,  and  whether  he 
really  does  accompany  that  young  lady,  and  why.' 

'So  you  are  Sure,  citizen,'  said  Mme.  du  Gua,  looking 
at  Corentin,  i  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  is  still  living  ? ' 

'She  exists  as  surely  in  flesh  and  blood,  madame,  as  the 
citizen  du  Gua  Saint-Cyr.' 

There  was  a  profound  irony  beneath  his  words  known 
only  to  the  lady  herself ;  any  other  woman  would  have 
been  disconcerted.  Her  son  suddenly  fixed  his  eyes  on 
Corentin,  who  coolly  drew  out  his  watch,  and  did  not 
seem  to  suspect  the  apprehensions  his  reply  had  aroused. 
But  the  lady,  uneasy  and  anxious  to  know  at  once 
whether  treachery  lurked  in  the  words,  or  chance  had 
directed  them,  said  to  Corentin  quite  simply — 

cMon  Dieu!     How  unsafe  the  roads  are!  The 


88 


The  Chouans 


Chouans  set  upon  us  on  the  other  side  of  Mortagne.  My 
son  narrowly  escaped  being  left  there  for  good  ;  he  had 
two  balls  through  his  hat  while  defending  me.' 

c  Then,  madame,  you  were  in  the  coach  that  was 
plundered  by  the  brigands,  in  spite  of  its  escort,  and 
which  has  just  brought  us  hither.  You  will  recognise  it, 
I  expect.  They  said  as  I  came  through  Mortagne  that 
Chouans  to  the  number  of  two  thousand  had  attacked  the 
mail,  and  that  every  one,  even  the  travellers,  had  perished. 
That  is  how  history  is  written.' 

The  fatuous  air  with  which  Corentin  spoke,  and  his 
drawling  tones,  recalled  some  habitue  of  4  La  Petite 
Provence,'  who  has  discovered  to  his  sorrow  that  a  piece 
of  political  news  is  false. 

cAlas,  madame,'  he  went  on,  c  if  travellers  are  murdered 
at  such  a  short  distance  from  Paris,  what  will  be  the 
state  of  affairs  in  Brittany  !  Faith,  I  shall  go  back  to 
Paris  and  not  venture  any  further.' 

c  Is  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  young  and  beautiful  ?  • 
asked  the  lady  of  their  hostess,  as  a  sudden  thought 
crossed  her  mind. 

Just  then  the  landlord  ended  the  conversation,  which 
had  so  painful  an  interest  for  the  three  speakers,  by  the 
announcement  that  breakfast  was  ready.  The  young 
sailor  offered  his  arm  to  his  mother  with  an  assumed 
familiarity  which  confirmed  Corentin's  doubts. 

He  called  out  as  he  reached  the  staircase — 

c  Citizen,  if  you  are  travelling  with  the  citoyenne 
Verneuil,  and  she  accepts  our  landlord's  offer,  do  not 
hesitate.'  And  though  these  words  were  careless,  and 
his  manner  by  no  means  pressing,  Corentin  went  upstairs. 
As  soon  as  they  were  some  seven  or  eight  steps  ahead  of 
the  Parisian,  the  young  man  pressed  the  lady's  hand 
affectionately,  and  said  in  a  low  voice — 

c  See  now  the  inglorious  hazards  to  which  your  plans 
have  exposed  us.  If  we  are  detected,  how  are  we  to 
escape  ?    And  what  a  part  you  have  made  me  play  ! 9 


A  Notion  of  Fouch<?s 


89 


The  three  entered  a  large-sized  room.  Even  those 
unaccustomed  to  travel  in  the  West  would  have  seen 
that  the  landlord  had  expended  all  his  resources  in  a 
lavish  preparation  for  his  guests.  The  table  was  care- 
fully appointed,  the  dampness  of  the  room  had  been 
driven  off  by  a  large  fire,  the  earthenware,  linen,  and 
furniture  were  not  intolerably  dirty.  Corentin  saw  that 
the  landlord  had  put  himself  about  a  good  deal,  as  the 
popular  saying  is,  to  please  the  strangers. 

c  So,'  he  thought,  c  these  people  are  not  what  they  wish 
to  appear  then.  The  little  youngster  is  adroit.  I  took 
him  for  a  simpleton,  but  I  fancy  he  is  quite  as  sharp  as  I 
am  myself.' 

The  landlord  went  to  inform  Mile,  de  Verneuil  that 
the  young  sailor,  his  mother,  and  Corentin  awaited  her 
coming. 

As  she  did  not  appear,  the  student  of  the  Ecole 
polytechnique  felt  sure  that  she  had  raised  difficulties, 
and  humming  c  Veillons  au  salut  de  P Empire^9  he  went  off 
in  the  direction  of  her  room.  A  curiously  keen  desire 
possessed  him  to  overcome  her  scruples  and  bring  her 
back  with  him.  Perhaps  he  meant  to  solve  the  doubts 
which  disturbed  him,  or  to  try  to  exert  over  this  stranger 
the  authority  men  like  to  exercise  in  the  case  of  a  pretty 
woman. 

4  May  I  be  hanged  if  that  is  a  Republican,'  thought 
Corentin,  as  he  went  out.  cThe  movements  of  those 
shoulders  show  the  courtier.  .  .  .  And  if  that  is  his 
mother,'  he  continued,  as  he  looked  again  at  Mme.  du 
Gua,  c  I  am  the  Pope  !  I  believe  they  are  Chouans ;  let 
us  make  certain  of  their  condition.' 

The  door  soon  opened,  and  the  young  sailor  appeared, 
leading  by  the  hand  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whom  he  led  to 
her  place  with  presumptuous  civility.  The  devil  had 
lost  nothing  during  the  hour  which  had  just  passed.  With 
Francine  s  aid,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  equipped  herself  in 
a  travelling  dress  more  formidable  perhaps  than  a  ball 

I 


9° 


The  Chouans 


toilette;  for  a  woman  beautiful  enough  to  discard 
ornaments  knows  how  to  relegate  the  charms  of  her 
toilette  to  a  second  place,  and  to  avail  herself  of  the 
attractions  of  a  simplicity  that  proceeds  from  art.  She 
wore  a  green  dress,  charmingly  made,  and  a  short  jacket 
or  spencer  fastened  with  loops  of  twisted  braid,  a  costume 
which  fitted  the  outlines  of  her  form  with  a  subtlety 
scarcely  girlish,  and  displayed  her  slender  figure  and 
graceful  movements.  She  came  in  smiling,  with  the 
amiability  natural  to  a  woman  who  can  disclose  a  set  of 
even  teeth,  white  as  porcelain,  between  two  red  lips, 
and  a  couple  of  fresh  childish  dimples  in  her  cheeks. 
She  had  discarded  the  bonnet,  which  at  first  had  almost 
hidden  her  face  from  the  young  sailor,  and  could  employ 
the  numerous  apparently  unconscious  little  devices  by 
which  a  woman  displays  or  enhances  the  charms  of  her 
face  and  the  graces  of  her  head.  A  certain  harmony 
between  her  manners  and  her  toilette  made  her  seem  so 
youthful  that  Madame  du  Gua  thought  herself  liberal  in 
allowing  her  some  twenty  years  of  age. 

The  coquetry  of  this  change  of  costume,  which  showed 
a  deliberate  effort  to  please,  might  have  aroused  hope  in 
the  young  man,  but  Mile,  de  Verneuil  bowed  slightly 
without  looking  at  him,  and  left  him  to  himself  with  a 
careless  cheerfulness  that  disconcerted  him.  Her  reserve 
seemed  to  unaccustomed  eyes  to  indicate  neither  coquetry 
nor  prudence,  but  simple  indifference,  real  or  affected. 
The  ingenuous  expression  which  she  knew  how  to 
assume  was  inscrutable.  There  was  not  a  trace  in  her 
manner  of  the  anticipation  of  a  conquest ;  the  pretty  ways 
which  had  already  flattered  and  deceived  the  young  man's 
self-love  seemed  native  to  her.  So  the  stranger  took  his 
place  somewhat  put  out. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  took  Francine's  hand  and  addressed 
Mme.  du  Gua  in  conciliatory  tones — 

4  Madame,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  allow  this  girl 
to  breakfast  with  us  ?    She  is  rather  a  friend  than  a 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


9* 


servant,  and  in  these  stormy  times  devotion  can  only  be 
repaid  by  friendship ;  indeed,  what  else  is  there  left  to  us  ? ' 
To  this  last  observation,  made  in  a  lowered  voice,  Mme. 
du  Gua  replied  by  a  somewhat  stiff  and  mutilated  curtsey 
that  revealed  her  annoyance  at  coming  in  contact  with 
so  pretty  a  woman.  She  stooped  to  whisper  in  her  son's 
ear — 

c  Oh  !  <c  stormy  times,"  "  devotion,'*  4<  madame,"  and 
the  waiting  woman  ;  this  is  not  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  but 
some  creature  sent  by  Fouche.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  became  aware  of  Corentin's  presence 
as  they  seated  themselves  ;  he  still  submitted  the  strangers 
to  a  narrow  inspection,  under  which  they  seemed  rather 
uneasy. 

c  Citizen,'  she  said,  c  I  am  sure  you  are  too  well  bred 
to  wish  to  follow  me  about  in  this  way.  The  Republic 
sent  my  relations  to  the  scaffold,  but  had  not  the 
magnanimity  to  find  a  guardian  for  me.  So,  though 
against  my  wish,  you  have  accompanied  me  so  far  with 
a  Quixotic  courtesy  quite  unheard  of,'  and  she  sighed, 
*  I  am  determined  not  to  permit  the  protecting  care 
you  have  expended  upon  me  to  become  a  source  of 
annoyance  to  you.  I  am  in  safety  here,  and  you  can 
leave  me.' 

She  looked  at  him  resolutely  and  scornfully.  Corentin 
understood  her,  suppressed  a  lurking  smile  about  the 
corners  of  his  crafty  mouth,  and  bowed  respectfully. 

4  Citoyenne,'  said  he,  6  it  is  always  an  honour  to  obey 
your  commands.  Beauty  is  the  only  queen  whom  a  true 
Republican  can  willingly  serve.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  smiled  so  significantly  and  joyously 
at  Francine  as  he  went,  that  Madame  du  Gua's  sus- 
picions were  somewhat  allayed,  albeit  prudence  had  come 
along  with  jealousy  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  perfect 
loveliness. 

c  Perhaps  she  is  Mile,  de  Verneuil  after  all,'  she  said  ta 
her  son. 


92 


The  Chouans 


4  How  about  the  escort  ? 9  he  answered,  for  vexation 
had  made  him  discreet  in  his  turn.  *  Is  he  her  gaoler  or 
her  protector  ?  Is  she  a  friend  or  an  enemy  of  the 
Government  ? 9 

Madame  du  Gua's  eyes  seemed  to  say  that  she  meant 
to  go  to  the  bottom  of  this  mystery.  Corentin's  depart- 
ure appeared  to  reassure  the  young  sailor,  his  face  relaxed, 
but  the  way  in  which  he  looked  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
revealed  rather  an  immoderate  love  of  women  in  general 
than  the  dawning  warmth  of  a  respectful  passion.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  young  lady  grew  more  and  more 
reserved,  keeping  all  her  friendly  words  for  Madame 
du  Gua,  until  the  young  man  grew  sulky  at  being  left  to 
himself,  and  in  his  vexation  assumed  airs  of  indifference. 
It  was  all  lost,  it  seemed,  upon  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who 
appeared  to  be  unaffected,  but  not  shy,  and  reserved 
without  prudishness.  After  all,  this  casual  meeting  of 
people  who  were  unlikely  to  know  more  of  each  other 
called  for  no  special  emotion  ;  but  a  certain  constraint, 
and  even  a  vulgar  embarrassment  began  to  spoil  any 
pleasure  which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  the  young  sailor 
had  expected  from  it  but  a  moment  before.  But  women 
have  among  themselves  such  strong  interests  in  common, 
or  such  a  keen  desire  for  emotions,  combined  with  so 
wonderful  an  instinct  for  finding  the  right  thing  to  say  and 
do,  that  they  can  always  break  the  ice  on  such  occasions. 
So  that,  as  if  one  thought  possessed  both  ladies,  they 
began  to  rally  their  cavalier,  rivalled  each  other  in  paying 
him  various  small  attentions,  and  joked  at  his  expense. 
This  unanimity  of  plan  set  them  free  from  constraint. 
Words  and  looks  began  to  lose  their  significance  and 
importance.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  in  fact,  the  two 
women,  already  enemies  at  heart,  were  outwardly  on  the 
best  of  terms,  while  the  young  sailor  found  that  he  pre- 
ferred Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil's  reserve  to  her  present 
vivacity.  He  was  so  tormented  that  he  angrily  wished 
he  had  not  asked  her  to  join  them. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


93 


4  Madame,'  said  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  at  last,  ( is 
your  son  always  as  dull  as  this  ? ' 

6  Mademoiselle,'  broke  in  the  victim,  *I  was  just 
asking  myself  what  is  the  good  of  a  pleasure  that  cannot 
last.  The  keenness  of  my  enjoyment  is  the  secret  of  my 
dulness.' 

^  c  Pretty  speeches  like  that  are  rather  courtly  for  the 
ficole  polytechnique,'  she  said,  laughing. 

( His  idea  was  very  natural,  mademoiselle,'  said  Madame 
du  Gua,  who  for  her  own  reasons  wished  to  set  her  guest 
at  ease. 

4  Come,  why  do  you  not  laugh  ? '  said  the  latter,  smiling. 
c  How  do  you  look  when  you  weep,  if  what  you  are 
pleased  to  call  "a  pleasure"  depresses  you  like  this  ?  ? 

Her  smile,  accompanied  by  a  challenge  from  her  eyes 
which  broke  through  the  mask  of  sedateness,  gave 
some  hope  to  the  young  sailor.  But  inspired  by  her 
nature,  which  always  leads  a  woman  to  do  too  much  or 
too  little,  the  more  Mile,  de  Verneuil  seemed  to  take 
possession  of  the  young  sailor  by  glances  full  of  the  fore- 
shadowing of  love,  the  more  she  opposed  a  cool  and 
reserved  severity  to  his  gallant  expressions — the  common 
tactics  which  women  use  to  conceal  their  sentiments. 
For  one  moment,  and  one  only,  when  each  had  thought 
to  find  the  other's  eyelids  lowered,  a  glance  communi- 
cated their  real  thoughts  ;  but  they  both  lowered  their 
eyes  as  promptly  as  they  had  raised  them,  confounded 
by  the  sudden  flash  that  had  agitated  both  their  hearts 
while  it  enlightened  them.  In  embarrassment  at  having 
said  so  much  in  a  glance,  they  did  not  dare  to  look 
at  each  other  again.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  anxious  to 
undeceive  the  stranger,  took  refuge  in  a  cool  politeness,  and 
even  seemed  to  be  impatient  for  their  breakfast  to  be  over. 

*  You  must  have  suffered  much  in  prison,  mademoi- 
selle ? '  queried  Mme.  du  Gua. 

c  Alas  !  madame,  I  feel  as  though  I  had  not  yet  ceased 
to  be  a  prisoner.' 


94 


The  Chouans 


c  Is  your  escort  intended  to  watch  you  or  to  watch  over 
you,  mademoiselle  ?  Are  you  suspected  by  the  Republic, 
or  are  you  dear  to  it  ? ' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  felt  instinctively  that  Mme.  du  Gua 
took  but  little  interest  in  her,  and  the  question  startled 
her. 

4  Madame,*  she  replied,  c  I  hardly  know  what  my 
precise  relations  with  the  Republic  are  at  this  moment.' 

*  You  make  it  tremble  perhaps,'  said  the  young  man, 
somewhat  ironically. 

c  Why  do  you  not  respect  mademoiselle's  secrets  ? ' 
asked  Mme.  du  Gua. 

c  The  secrets  of  a  young  girl  who  has  known  nothing 
of  life  as  yet  but  its  sorrows  are  not  very  interesting, 
madame.' 

c  But  the  First  Consul  seems  to  be  exceedingly  well 
disposed,'  said  Mme.  du  Gua,  wishful  to  keep  up  a 
conversation  which  might  tell  her  something  that  she 
wanted  to  know.  i  Do  they  not  say  that  he  is  about  to 
repeal  the  law  against  emigrants  ! ' 

*  It  is  quite  true,  madame,'  said  the  other,  almost  too 
eagerly  perhaps.  *  Why,  then,  should  we  arouse  La  Vendee 
and  Brittany?  Why  kindle  the  flames  of  insurrection 
in  France  ? ' 

This  generous  outburst,  in  which  she  seemed  to  put 
a  note  of  self-reproach,  moved  the  young  sailor.  He 
looked  attentively  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  but  he  could  read 
neither  hatred  nor  love  in  her  face.  Her  face,  with  its 
delicate  tints  that  attested  the  fineness  of  the  skin,  was 
impenetrable.  Ungovernable  curiosity  suddenly  attracted 
him  towards  this  singular  being,  to  whom  he  had  already 
felt  drawn  by  strong  desire. 

c  But  you  are  going  to  Mayenne,  madame  ? 9  she  asked 
after  a  short  pause. 

c  And  if  so,  mademoiselle  ? '  queried  the  young  man. 

c  Well,  if  so,  madame,  and  as  your  son  is  in  the  service 
of  the  Republic  ' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


95 


These  words  were  uttered  with  seeming  carelessness, 
but  she  gave  a  furtive  glance  at  the  two  strangers,  such 
as  only  women  and  diplomatists  employ,  as  she  continued, 
c  You  must  be  in  fear  of  the  Chouans  ?  An  escort  is 
not  to  be  despised.  We  are  almost  travelling  companions 
already.    Will  you  come  with  us  to  Mayenne  ? 9 

Mother  and  son  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  latter 
spoke. 

c  I  hardly  know,  mademoiselle,  whether  I  do  very 
discreetly  in  telling  you  that  matters  of  great  importance 
require  us  to  be  in  the  district  of  Fougeres  to-night,  and 
that  so  far  we  have  found  no  means  of  transport ;  but 
women  are  so  generous  by  nature  that  I  should  be 
ashamed  not  to  trust  you.  But  still,'  he  continued, 
c  before  we  put  ourselves  in  your  hands,  let  us  know  at 
any  rate  if  we  are  likely  to  issue  from  them  safe  and 
sound.  Are  you  the  slave  or  the  mistress  of  your 
Republican  escort  ?  Forgive  the  plain  speaking  of  a 
young  sailor,  but  I  see  so  much  that  is  unusual  in  your 
circumstances  ' 

c  In  these  times,  sir,  nothing  that  happens  is  usual. 
Believe  me,  you  may  accept  without  hesitation.  Above 
all,'  she  spoke  with  emphasis,  c  you  have  no  treachery  to 
fear  in  a  straightforward  offer  made  by  one  who  takes  no 
share  in  party  hatreds.' 

*  Even  then  the  journey  will  have  its  perils,'  he 
answered,  with  an  arch  look  that  gave  significance  to  the 
commonplace  words. 

c  What  are  you  afraid  of  now  ? '  she  asked,  with  a 
mocking  smile ;  i  there  is  no  danger  that  I  see,  for 
anybody.' 

'Is  this  the  woman  whose  glances  reflected  my  desires,' 
said  he  to  himself.  c  What  a  tone  to  take  !  Does  she 
mean  to  entrap  me  ? ' 

The  shrill  piercing  cry  of  a  screech-owl  rang  out  like  a 
dismal  portent ;  it  seemed  to  come  from  the  chimney. 

c  What  is  that  ? '  asked  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil, 


96 


The  Chouans 


with  a  gesture  of  surprise.  4  It  is  a  bad  omen  for  our 
journey.  And  how  is  it  that  screech-owls  hoot  in 
broad  daylight  hereabouts  ? ' 

4  They  do  at  times,'  said  the  young  man  shortly. 
'Mademoiselle,  perhaps  we  shall  bring  you  ill-luck.  Is 
not  that  what  you  are  thinking  ?  We  had  better  not 
travel  together.' 

This  was  said  with  a  soberness  and  gravity  that 
astonished  her. 

4 1  have  no  wish  to  constrain  you,  sir,'  she  said  with 
aristocratic  impertinence.  4  Pray  let  us  keep  what  little 
liberty  the  Republic  allows  us.  If  your  mother  were 
alone,  I  should  insist  ' 

The  heavy  footsteps  of  a  soldier  sounded  from  the 
corridor,  and  Hulot  showed  a  scowling  face. 

4  Come  here,  colonel,'  said  Mile.  de.  Verneuil,  smiling 
and  pointing  to  a  chair  beside  her.  4  Let  us  occupy 
ourselves  with  affairs  of  State  if  we  must.  But  do  not 
look  so  serious !  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Are 
there  Chouans  about  ? ' 

The  commandant  was  staring  open-mouthed  at  the 
stranger,  at  whom  he  gazed  with  close  attention. 

4  Will  you  take  some  more  hare,  mother  ?  Mademoi- 
selle, you  are  eating  nothing,'  the  sailor  said  to  Francine, 
and  he  busied  himself  with  his  companions. 

But  there  was  something  so  cruelly  earnest  in  Hulot's 
surprise  and  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  attention,  that  it  was 
dangerous  to  disregard  these  facts. 

4  What  is  the  matter,  commandant  ?  Do  you  happen 
to  know  me  ?  '  he  asked  sharply. 

4  Perhaps,'  answered  the  Republican. 

4  Indeed,  I  think  I  have  seen  you  as  a  visitor  at  the 
school.' 

'  I  never  went  to  school  at  all,'  the  commandant 
answered  abruptly.  4  What  sort  of  school  may  you  come 
from?' 

4  The  Ecole  polytechnique/ 

4 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


97 


€  Oh  !  ah  !  yes  !  Those  barracks  where  they  train 
soldiers  in  the  dormitories,'  replied  the  commandant,  who 
had  an  ungovernable  dislike  of  all  officers  from  this 
scientific  seminary.    c  What  corps  are  you  serving  in  ? ' 

*  I  am  in  the  navy.' 

c  Ah  ! '  said  Hulot,  laughing  spitefully,  c  do  you  know 
many  pupils  from  that  school  in  the  navy  ?  They 
only  turn  out  officers  of  artillery  and  engineers,'  he  went 
on  sternly. 

The  other  was  not  disconcerted. 

4  The  name  I  bear  has  made  an  exception  of  me,'  he 
answered.    c  We  have  all  been  sailors  in  our  family.' 

c  Ah  !  '  said  Hulot ;  c  and  what  is  your  family  name, 
citizen  ? ' 

<  Du  Gua  Saint-Cyr.' 

4  Then  you  were  not  murdered  at  Mortagne  ? ' 

4  Ah  !  A  very  little  more  and  we  must  have  been,' 
said  Madame  du  Gua ;  c  my  son  had  a  couple  of  balls 
through  ' 

c  Have  you  your  papers  ? 9  said  Hulot,  who  paid  no 
attention  to  the  mother. 

c  Would  you  like  to  read  them  ? '  said  the  young  man 
flippantly,  with  malice  in  his  blue  eyes,  as  he  looked  from 
the  scowling  commandant  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

c  I  am  to  have  a  young  fool  set  his  wits  at  me,  I 
suppose,'  said  Hulot.  c  Give  me  your  papers,  or  come 
away  with  you.' 

c  Come,  come,  my  fine  fellow,  I  am  not  a  recruit. 
Why  should  I  answer  you  ?    Who  may  you  be  ? ' 

c  I  am  the  commandant  of  the  department,'  answered 
Hulot. 

c  Oh,  then  this  is  a  very  serious  matter,  and  I  might 
be  taken  with  arms  in  my  hands.'  He  held  out  a  glass 
of  Bordeaux  wine  to  the  commandant. 

cl  am  not  thirsty,'  said  Hulot.  c  Come,  show  me 
your  papers.' 

Just  then  the  tramp  of  soldiers  and  the  clanking  of 

G 


98 


The  Chouans 


weapons  filled  the  street.  Hulot  stepped  to  the  window 
with  a  satisfaction  that  alarmed  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  This 
sign  of  concern  softened  the  young  man,  whose  face  had 
grown  cold  and  hard.  He  searched  the  pocket  of  his  coat 
and  drew  out  an  elegant  portfolio,  and  from  this  he  selected 
papers  which  he  handed  to  the  commandant,  and  which 
Hulot  began  to  read  deliberately,  studying  the  signa- 
ture on  the  passport  and  the  face  of  the  suspected 
traveller.  As  he  proceeded  with  his  scrutiny,  the  screech 
owl  hooted  again,  but  this  time  it  was  plainly  in  the 
accents  of  a  human  voice. 

The  commandant  returned  the  papers  with  a  sarcastic 
expression. 

c  This  is  all  very  fine,'  he  said, c  but  you  must  follow  me 
to  the  district  headquarters.    I  am  not  fond  of  music' 

c  Why  take  him  to  the  district  ? '  asked  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
in  a  new  tone  of  voice. 

4  That  is  no  business  of  yours,  young  lady,'  said  Hulot, 
with  the  usual  grimace. 

Irritated  at  this  language  from  the  old  soldier,  and  by 
the  way  she  had  been  lowered,  as  it  were,  in  the  eyes 
of  a  man  who  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her,  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  dropped  the  sedate  manner  which  had  hitherto 
been  hers,  her  colour  rose,  and  her  eyes  glowed. 

( Tell  me,  has  this  young  man  satisfied  the  require- 
ments of  the  law  ? '  she  asked  gently,  though  her  voice 
faltered  a  little. 

4  Yes,  to  outward  seeming.' 

cWell,  then,  I  shall  expect  you  to  leave  him  alone  "in 
outward  seeming."  Are  you  afraid  he  will  escape  you  ? 
You  are  going  to  escort  us  to  Mayenne;  he  and  his 
mother  will  travel  in  the  coach  with  me.  No  objections 
— it  is  my  wish  !  Now,  what  is  it  ? '  she  added 
when  he  made  his  usual  little  grimace.  c  Do  you  still 
suspect  him  ? ' 

'  To  some  extent.' 

*  What  do  you  want  to  do  ? ' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


99 


i  Nothing  but  to  cool  his  head  a  bit  with  some  lead.  .  . 
A  hare-brained  boy  ! '  said  the  commandant,  sardonically. 
c  You  are  joking,  Colonel.' 

c  Come,  comrade  ! '  said  the  commandant,  with  a  move- 
ment of  the  head  ;  c  come,  let  us  be  off,  sharp  ! ' 

At  this  impertinence  from  Hulot,  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
smiled  and  grew  calm. 

c  Stay  where  you  are,'  she  said  to  the  young  man,  with 
a  dignified  gesture  of  protection. 

'What  a  splendid  head  !  '  he  whispered  to  his  mother, 
who  knitted  her  brows. 

Repressed  vexation  and  wounded  susceptibilities  had 
brought  new  beauties  into  the  fair  Parisian's  face.  Every 
one  rose  to  their  feet,  Francine,  and  Mme.  du  Gua  and 
her  son.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  quickly  stepped  between 
them  and  the  commandant,  who  was  smiling,  and  deftly 
unfastened  the  loops  of  braid  on  her  spencer.  Then 
with  the  heedlessness  that  possesses  a  woman  whose  self- 
love  has  been  severely  wounded,  she  drew  out  a  letter  and 
handed  it  at  once  to  the  commandant,  pleased  with  her 
power,  and  as  impatient  to  exercise  it  as  any  child  can  be 
to  try  a  new  plaything. 

c  Read  it,'  she  said  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 

Intoxicated  with  her  triumph,  she  returned  towards 
the  young  man,  with  a  glance  at  him  in  which  malice 
and  love  were  mingled.  The  brows  of  both  grew  lighter, 
a  flush  of  joy  overspread  their  excited  faces,  innumerable 
contending  thoughts  arose  in  their  minds.  Mme.  du  Gua's 
glance  seemed  to  say  that  she  attributed  Mile,  de 
Verneuil's  generosity  rather  to  love  than  to  charity, 
and  she  was  certainly  quite  right.  The  fair  traveller 
flushed  up  in  the  first  instance,  and  modestly  lowered  her 
eyelids,  as  she  gathered  the  meaning  of  that  feminine 
glance  ;  but  she  raised  her  head  again  proudly  under  the 
menacing  accusation,  and  defiantly  met  all  eyes.  Mean- 
while, the  petrified  commandant  handed  back  her  letter, 
countersigned  by  ministers,  and  enjoining  all  persons  in 


IOO 


The  Chouans 


authority  to  obey  the  orders  of  the  mysterious  bearer ; 
but  he  drew  his  sword  from  its  sheath,  broke  it  over  his 
knee,  and  flung  down  the  fragments. 

c  Mademoiselle,  you  probably  know  what  you  are  about ; 
but  a  Republican  has  his  own  ideas  and  a  pride  of  his 
own,  and  I  have  not  yet  learned  to  take  my  orders  from  a 
pretty  woman.  The  First  Consul  will  receive  my 
resignation  to-night,  and  another  than  Hulot  will  obey 
you.  When  I  do  not  understand  a  matter,  I  will  not  stir  in 
it,  especially  if  I  am  supposed  to  understand  it  and  cannot.' 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  soon  broken  by  the 
young  Parisian  lady,  who  went  up  to  the  commandant, 
held  out  her  hand,  and  said — 

4  Colonel,  although  your  beard  is  rather  long,  you  may 
give  me  a  kiss.    You  are  a  man  ! ' 

'So  I  trust,  mademoiselle,'  he  answered,  as  he 
awkwardly  pressed  his  lips  to  the  hand  of  this  strange  girl. 
c  As  for  you,  comrade/  and  he  pointed  his  finger  at  him, 
c  you  have  had  a  narrow  escape.' 

c  The  joke  has  gone  quite  far  enough,  commandant ;  if 
you  like,  I  will  go  to  the  district  with  you,'  said  the 
laughing  stranger. 

'And  bring  that  invisible  whistler  Marche-a-Terre 
along  with  you.' 

c  Marche-a-Terre — who  is  that  ? '  said  the  sailor, 
with  every  sign  of  genuine  surprise. 

4  Did  not  some  one  whistle  a  minute  ago  ? ' 

cIf  they  did,'  said  the  other,  'what  has  that  to  do  with 
me,  I  wonder  ?  I  thought  that  your  men,  brought  here  no 
doubt  to  arrest  me,  were  warning  you  of  their  approach.' 

c  Was  that  really  what  you  thought  ? ' 

*  Eh,  mon  Dieu  I  Yes.  Drink  your  glass  of  Bordeaux  ; 
it  is  delicious.' 

Perplexed  by  the  sailor's  astonishment,  by  the  levity  of 
his  manner,  and  the  almost  childish  appearance  of  his  face, 
with  its  carefully  curled  fair  hair,  the  commandant's 
mind  hesitated  among  endless  suspicions.    He  noticed 


A  Notion  of  Fouche*s 


IOI 


Madame  du  Gua,  who  was  trying  to  read  the  secret  in 
her  son's  glances  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  and  suddenly  asked 
her — 

c  Your  age,  citoyenne  ? 1 

4 Alas!  the  laws  of  our  Republic  are  growing  very 
merciless,  Monsieur  POfficier ;  I  am  thirty-eight  years  old.' 

c  May  I  be  shot  if  I  believe  a  word  of  it.  Marche-zU 
Terre  is  about ;  I  heard  him  whistle,  and  you  are  Chouans 
in  disguise.  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  I  will  have  the  inn 
surrounded  and  searched.' 

A  whistle  not  unlike  the  sound  he  spoke  of  interrupted 
the  commandant's  speech.  It  came  from  the  courtyard. 
Fortunately,  Hulot  hurried  into  the  corridor,  and  did  not 
notice  the  pallor  that  overspread  Madame  du  Gua's  face 
at  the  words.  When  Hulot  beheld  the  whistler,  a 
postilion  harnessing  his  horses  to  the  coach,  his  suspicions 
were  allayed.  It  seemed  to  him  so  absurd  that  Chouans 
should  risk  themselves  in  the  midst  of  Alen^on,  that  he 
returned  in  confusion. 

c  I  forgive  him,  but  some  day  he  shall  pay  dear  for  the 
moments  he  has  made  us  spend  here,'  said  the  mother 
gravely,  whispering  to  her  son,  and  at  that  instant 
Hulot  came  into  the  room  again.  The  brave  officer 
clearly  showed  on  his  embarrassed  face  the  expression  of 
a  mental  struggle  between  the  rigorous  claims  of  duty 
and  his  own  natural  good  nature.  He  still  looked  surly, 
perhaps  because  he  thought  that  he  had  been  mistaken, 
but  he  took  the  glass  of  Bordeaux  and  said — 

c  Excuse  me,  comrade ;  but  if  your  School  sends  out 
such  youngsters  for  officers  ' 

c  Are  there  not  still  younger  ones  among  the  brigands  ? ' 
asked  the  so-called  sailor,  laughing. 

4  For  whom  did  you  take  my  son  ? '  answered  Mme.  du 
Gua. 

c  For  the  Gars,  the  leader  sent  over  to  the  Chouans 
and  Vendeans  by  the  English  ministry,  and  whose  style 
is  the  Marquis  of  Montauran.' 


102 


The  Chouans 


As  he  spoke  the  commandant  still  kept  a  close  watch 
on  the  faces  of  the  two  suspected  persons.  They  looked 
at  each  other  with  the  peculiar  expressions  which  two  pre- 
sumptuous and  ignorant  people  might  assume  successively, 
and  which  might  be  translated  by  this  dialogue  :  *  Do  you 
know  what  this  means  ? ' — c  No  ;  do  you  ? % — (Not  a  bit 
of  it.' — 4  What  does  he  mean  to  say?' — 4  He  is  dream- 
ing,'—  and  there  followed  the  mocking  jeer  of  folly, 
which  thinks  itself  triumphant. 

The  mention  of  the  Royalist's  general's  name  wrought 
in  Marie  de  Verneuil's  manners  and  unconcern  a  sudden 
alteration,  which  was  only  visible  to  Francine,  the  one 
person  present  who  could  read  the  almost  imperceptible 
shades  of  expression  on  that  young  face.  Completely 
baffled,  the  commandant  picked  up  the  two  pieces  of  his 
sword,  and  looked  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  The  warmth 
and  excitement  in  her  face  had  succeeded  in  stirring  his 
own  feelings  \  he  said — 

c  As  for  you,  mademoiselle,  I  shall  stick  to  my  word, 
and  to-morrow  the  fragments  of  my  sword  shall  return  to 
Bonaparte,  unless  ' 

6  Eh  !  What  have  I  to  do  with  your  Bonapartes  and 
your  Republics,  your  Chouans,  your  King,  and  your 
Gars  ?  '  cried  she,  repressing  with  some  difficulty  an  out- 
burst of  temper  which  would  have  been  in  very  poor  taste. 

A  strange  excitement  or  waywardness  brought  a 
brilliant  colour  to  her  face ;  it  was  clear  that  the  whole 
world  would  become  as  nothing  to  this  young  girl  from 
the  moment  when  she  singled  out  one  living  creature  in 
it  from  all  others.  But  suddenly  she  forced  herself  to 
be  calm  again,  finding  that  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  her 
as  upon  a  principal  personage.  The  commandant  rose 
abruptly.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  anxious  and  disturbed, 
followed  him,  stopped  him  in  the  passage  outside,  and 
asked  him  in  earnest  tones — 

4  Had  you  really  very  strong  reasons  for  suspecting 
this  young  man  to  be  the  Gars  ? ' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  103 

c  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  That  popinjay  who  came  along 
with  you,  mademoiselle,  had  just  told  me  that  the 
travellers  and  courier  had  all  been  murdered  by  the 
Chouans,  which  I  knew  already  ;  but  I  did  not  know 
that  the  name  of  the  dead  travellers  was  du  Gua  Saint- 
Cyr!' 

cOh,  if  Corentin  is  mixed  up  in  it,  I  am  not  sur- 
prised at  anything  any  longer,'  she  said,  with  a  gesture 
of  disgust.  The  commandant  withdrew,  not  daring  to 
look  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whose  dangerous  beauty  had 
already  perturbed  his  heart. 

4  If  I  had  stayed  there  for  ten  more  minutes,'  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  went  downstairs,  6 1  should  have  been 
fool  enough  to  pick  up  my  sword  again  to  escort  her.' 

Mme.  du  Gua  saw  how  the  young  man's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  door  through  which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had 
made  her  exit,  and  spoke  in  his  ear — 

*  It  is  always  the  same  with  you  !  You  will  only 
come  to  your  end  through  some  woman  or  other.  The 
sight  of  a  doll  makes  you  forget  everything  else.  Why 
did  you  allow  her  to  breakfast  with  us  ?  What  sort 
of  demoiselle  de  Verneuil  can  she  be  who  accepts  invita- 
tions to  breakfast  with  strangers,  has  an  escort  of  Blues, 
and  countermands  them  by  a  paper  kept  in  reserve  in 
her  spencer  like  a  love-letter  ?  She  is  one  of  those  vile 
creatures,  by  means  of  whom  Fouche  thinks  to  entrap 
you,  and  that  letter  which  she  produced  authorised  her 
to  make  use  of  the  Blues  against  you.' 

6  Really,  madame,'  said  the  young  man  in  a  sharp  tone 
that  cut  the  lady  to  the  heart  and  made  her  cheeks  turn 
white,  c  her  generosity  is  a  flat  contradiction  to  your 
theories.  Be  careful  to  remember  that  we  are  only 
brought  together  by  the  interests  of  the  King.  Can 
the  universe  be  other  than  a  void  for  you,  who  have  had 
Charette  at  your  feet  ?  Could  you  live  any  longer  save  to 
avenge  him  ? ' 

The  lady  stood  lost  in  thought,   like   a  man  who 


104 


The  Chouans 


watches  the  shipwreck  of  his  fortunes  from  the  strand, 
and  only  feels  a  stronger  craving  for  his  lost  riches. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  came  back  and  exchanged  with  the 
young  man  a  smile  and  a  look  of  gentle  raillery.  The 
prophecies  of  hope  were  the  more  flattering  because  the 
future  seemed  so  uncertain,  and  the  time  that  they  might 
spend  together  so  very  brief. 

The  glance,  however  rapid  it  might  be,  was  not  lost 
on  Mme.  du  Gua's  discerning  eyes.  She  saw  what  it 
meant,  and  her  brow  slightly  contracted  at  once ;  her 
jealous  thoughts  could  not  be  kept  entirely  unexpressed 
by  her  face.  Francine  was  studying  this  woman ;  she 
saw  her  eyes  sparkle  and  the  colour  glow  in  her  cheeks  ; 
a  fiendish  inspiration  seemed  to  animate  her  face  ;  she 
seemed  to  be  in  the  throes  of  some  horrible  convulsion  ; 
but  this  passed  like  a  flash  across  her  features,  lightning 
could  not  be  more  rapid,  nor  death  more  swift.  Mme. 
du  Gua  resumed  her  apparent  sprightliness  with  such 
ready  self-command  that  Francine  thought  she  had  been 
dreaming.  For  all  that,  she  trembled  as  she  discerned 
in  the  woman  before  her  a  nature  at  least  as  vehement 
as  Mile,  de  Verneuil's,  and  foresaw  the  alarming 
collisions  that  were  sure  to  come  to  pass  between  two 
minds  of  this  temper.  She  shuddered  again  when  she 
saw  Mile,  de  Verneuil  go  up  to  the  young  officer,  fling 
at  him  one  of  those  passionate  glances  that  intoxicate, 
and  draw  him  by  both  hands  towards  the  window,  with 
mischievous  coquetry. 

c  Now,'  said  she,  as  she  tried  to  read  his  eyes,  c  confess 
to  me  that  you  are  not  the  citizen  du  Gua  Saint-Cyr  ? ' 

c  Yes  ;  I  am,  mademoiselle.' 

c  But  both  he  and  his  mother  were  murdered  the  day 
before  yesterday  ! ' 

*  I  am  extremely  sorry,'  he  answered,  smiling  at  her ; 
6  but  however  that  may  be,  I  am  none  the  less  obliged  to 
you.  I  shall  always  remember  you  with  deep  gratitude, 
and  I  wish  that  I  were  in  a  position  to  prove  it.' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  105 

CI  thought  I  had  saved  an  Emigrant;  but  I  like  you 
better  as  a  Republican.' 

She  became  embarrassed  at  the  words,  which  seemed  to 
have  heedlessly  dropped  from  her.  Her  lips  grew  redder. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  face  but  a  delightfully  artless 
revelation  of  her  feelings.  Softly  she  dropped  the  young 
officer's  hands,  not  through  bashfulness  because  she  had 
pressed  them,  but  impelled  by  a  thought  within  her  heart 
well  nigh  too  heavy  to  bear.  And  so  she  left  him  in- 
toxicated by  his  hopes.  Then,  quite  suddenly,  she  seemed 
to  repent  within  herself  of  this  freedom,  although  these 
passing  adventures  of  travel  might  seem  to  justify  it. 
She  stood  once  more  on  ceremony,  took  leave  of  her 
travelling  companions,  and  vanished  with  Francine. 

When  they  had  reached  their  room,  Francine  locked 
her  fingers  together,  and  turned  out  the  palms  of  her  out- 
stretched hands,  twisting  her  arms  to  do  so,  as  she  looked 
at  her  mistress,  saying,  c  Ah,  Marie !  how  many  things 
have  happened  in  such  a  short  time  !  There  is  no  one 
like  you  for  these  goings-on.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  sprang  to  Francine  and  put  her  arms 
round  her  neck. 

'  This  is  life  ! '  she  cried.    c  I  am  in  heaven  ! 9 

c  Or  in  hell,  maybe,'  Francine  answered. 

'Yes — hell,  if  you  like!'  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
merrily.  c  Here,  give  me  your  hand  ;  feel  how  my  pulse 
beats  !  I  am  in  a  fever.  Little  matters  all  the  world 
to  me  now  !  How  often  have  I  not  seen  him  in  my 
dreams  !  What  a  fine  head  that  is  of  his,  and  how  his 
eyes  sparkle  ! ' 

c  But  will  he  love  you  ? '  asked  the  peasant  girl  with 
direct  simplicity.  Her  voice  faltered,  and  her  face  took  a 
sober  expression. 

*  Can  you  ask  ? 9  replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  6  Now  tell 
me,  Francine,'  she  added,  striking  a  half-comic,  half- 
tragical  attitude  before  her,  c  would  he  be  so  very  hard  to 
please  ?  * 


io6 


The  Chouans 


*Yes;  but  will  the  love  last?'  Francine  answered, 
smiling. 

For  a  moment  the  two  remained  struck  dumb — 
Francine  because  she  had  disclosed  so  much  knowledge  of 
life,  and  Marie  because,  for  the  first  time  in  her  existence, 
she  beheld  a  prospect  of  happiness  in  a  love  affair.  She 
was  leaning,  as  it  were,  over  a  precipice  ;  and  would  fain 
try  its  depths,  waiting  for  the  sound  of  the  pebble  that 
she  had  thrown  over,  and,  in  the  first  instance,  had 
thrown  heedlessly. 

'  Ah,  that  is  my  business,'  she  said  with  the  gesture  of 
a  desperate  gambler.  c  I  have  no  compassion  for  a  woman 
who  is  cast  off ;  she  has  only  herself  to  blame  for  her 
desertion.  Once  in  my  keeping,  I  shall  know  how  to 
retain  a  man's  heart  through  life  and  death.'  There  was 
a  moment's  pause,  and  she  added  in  a  tone  of  surprise, 
c  But  how  did  you  come  by  so  much  experience,  Francine  ? ' 

4  Mademoiselle,'  said  the  young  country  woman  eagerly, 
c  I  can  hear  footsteps  in  the  corridor  -' 

4  Ah,  not  hisj  said  the  other,  listening  for  them.  *  So 
that  is  the  way  you  answer  me  !  I  understand  you.  I 
shall  wait  for  your  secret,  or  I  shall  guess  it.' 

Francine  was  right.  Three  raps  on  the  door  inter- 
rupted their  conversation,  and  Captain  Merle  soon  showed 
his  face  after  he  heard  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  invitation  to 
enter.  The  captain  made  a  military  salute,  ventured  a 
sidelong  glance  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  and,  dazzled  by  the 
beautiful  woman  before  him,  could  find  nothing  else  to 
say  than,  *  I  am  at  your  orders,  mademoiselle  ! ' 

4  So  you  have  become  my  protector  on  the  resignation 
of  your  chief  of  demi-brigade.  Is  not  that  what  your 
regiment  is  called  ? ' 

4  My  superior  officer,  Adjutant-Major  Gerard,  sent  me 
to  you.' 

c  So  your  commandant  is  afraid  of  me  ? '  she  inquired. 
*  Begging  your  pardon,  mademoiselle,  Hulot  is  not 
afraid ;  but  ladies  are  not  much  in  his  line,  you  see,  and 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  107 

it  rather  put  him  out  to  find  his  general  wearing  a 
mutch.' 

4  It  was  his  duty  to  obey  his  superiors  for  all  that,' 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  replied.  '  I  have  a  liking  for  subordina- 
tion— I  give  you  warning — and  I  do  not  like  resistance  to 
my  authority.' 

6  It  would  be  difficult,'  said  Merle. 

c  Let  us  talk  things  over,'  Mile,  de  Verneuil  continued. 
c  Your  troops  here  are  fresh ;  they  will  escort  me  to 
Mayenne,  which  I  can  reach  to-night.  Could  we  find 
fresh  soldiers  there  so  as  to  set  out  again  at  once  without 
a  halt  ?  The  Chouans  do  not  know  of  our  little  ex- 
pedition. If  we  travel  at  night  in  this  way,  we  should 
have  to  be  very  unlucky  indeed  to  meet  with  them  in 
numbers  sufficient  to  attack  us.  Let  us  see  now  ;  tell  me 
if  you  think  the  plan  feasible  ? ' 

6  Yes,  mademoiselle.' 

'  How  are  the  roads  between  Mayenne  and  Fougeres  ? ' 

6  Rough  ;  and  there  are  everlasting  ups  and  downs — 
a  regular  squirrel-track.' 

c  Let  us  be  off  at  once  ! '  said  she  ;  c  and  as  we  have  no 
dangers  to  fear  on  the  outskirts  of  Alen^on,  set  out  first, 
and  we  will  soon  overtake  you.' 

4  One  might  think  she  had  been  ten  years  in  command,' 
said  Merle  to  himself  as  he  went  out.  4  Hulot  was  wrong 
about  her ;  that  girl  is  not  one  of  the  sort  that  make  their 
living  from  feather  beds.  Milk  cartouches  !  If  Captain 
Merle  means  to  be  Adjutant-Major  some  day,  I  advise  him 
not  to  take  St.  Michael  for  the  Devil.' 

Whilst  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  taking  counsel  with  the 
captain,  Francine  slipped  out,  intending  to  inspect  from 
a  corridor  window  a  spot  in  the  courtyard  which  had 
attracted  her  curiosity  ever  since  her  arrival  in  the  inn. 
So  rapt  was  her  gaze  upon  the  heap  of  straw  in  the 
stable,  that  any  one  might  have  thought  her  engaged  in 
prayer  before  the  shrine  of  the  Holy  Virgin.  Very  soon 
she  saw  Mme.  du  Gua  picking  her  way  towards  Marche- 


io8 


The  Chouans 


a-Terre  with  all  the  caution  of  a  cat  thavt  tries  not  to  wet 
its  paws.  At  sight  of  the  lady  the  Chouan  rose  and 
stood  most  respectfully  before  hen  This  strange  occur- 
rence revived  Francine's  curiosity.  She  sprang  out  into 
the  yard,  gliding  along  by  the  wall  so  that  Mme.  du  Gua 
should  not  see  her,  and  tried  to  hide  herself  behind  the 
stable-door.  She  held  her  breath,  and  walked  on  tiptoe, 
trying  not  to  make  the  slightest  sound,  and  succeeded  in 
placing  herself  close  to  Marche-a-Terre  without  attracting 
his  attention. 

4  And  if,  after  you  have  made  all  these  inquiries,  you 
find  that  that  is  not  her  name,'  said  the  stranger  lady  to 
the  Chouan,  4  you  will  shoot  her  down  without  mercy,  as 
if  she  were  a  mad  dog.' 

4 1  understand,'  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

The  lady  went ;  the  Chouan  put  his  red  woollen  cap 
on  his  head  again,  and  stood  scratching  his  ear  like  a 
man  in  doubt,  when  he  saw  Francine  start  up  before 
him  as  if  by  magic. 

4  Saint  Anne  of  Auray  ! '  cried  he,  and  suddenly  dropping 
his  whip,  he  clasped  his  hands,  and  stood  enraptured.  A 
faint,  red  flush  lit  up  his  rough  face,  and  his  eyes  shone 
out  like  diamonds  in  the  mud. 

4  Is  that  really  Cottin's  lass  ? '  he  asked  in  a  stifled  voice, 
audible  to  himself  alone.  4  Aren't  you  just  grand  ! ' 
(godaine)  he  went  on  after  a  pause.  This  rather  odd 
word,  godain^  godaine^  in  the  patois  of  the  country,  serves 
rustic  wooers  to  express  the  highest  possible  admiration  of 
a  combination  of  beauty  and  finery. 

4  I  am  afraid  to  touch  you,'  Marche-a-Terre  added  ; 
but,  nevertheless,  he  stretched  out  his  big  hand  to 
Francine  to  ascertain  the  weight  of  a  thick  gold  chain 
which  wound  about  her  throat,  and  hung  down  to  her 
waist. 

4  You  had  better  not,  Pierre  ! 9  Francine  said,  inspired 
by  the  woman's  instinct  to  tyrannise  wherever  she  is  not 
oppressed.    Francine  drew  back  with  much  dignity  after 


A  Notion  of  Fouches  109 

enjoying  the  Chouan's  surprise  ;  but  there  was  plenty  of 
kindliness  in  her  looks  to  make  up  for  her  hard  words. 
She  came  nearer  again.  c  Pierre,'  she  went  on,  c  was  not 
that  lady  talking  to  you  about  the  young  lady,  my 
mistress  ?  * 

Marche-a-Terre  stood  in  silence  ;  his  face,  like  the 
dawn,  was  a  struggle  between  light  and  darkness.  He 
looked  first  at  Francine,  then  at  the  great  whip  that  he 
had  dropped,  and  finally,  back  at  the  gold  chain,  which 
seemed  to  have  for  him  an  attraction  quite  as  powerful  as 
the  face  of  the  Breton  maid ;  then,  as  if  to  put  an  end  to 
his  perplexities,  he  picked  up  his  whip  again,  and  uttered 
not  a  word. 

c  Oh,  it  is  not  difficult  to  guess  that  the  lady  has 
ordered  you  to  kill  my  mistress,'  Francine  continued. 
She  knew  the  scrupulous  loyalty  of  the  gars,  and  wished 
to  overcome  his  hesitation.  Marche-a-Terre  nodded 
significantly.    For  'Cottin's  lass,'  this  was  an  answer. 

c  Very  well  then,  Pierre,  if  anything  should  happen  to 
her,  no  matter  how  slight,  or  if  you  should  take  so  much 
as  a  hair  of  her  head,  we  shall  have  seen  each  other  for  the 
last  time  ;  and  we  shall  not  even  meet  in  eternity,  for  I 
shall  be  in  Paradise,  and  you  will  go  to  hell  ! ' 

No  demoniac  exorcised  by  the  offices  of  the  Church 
performed  in  pomp  in  the  days  of  yore,  could  have  shown 
more  terror  than  Marche-a-Terre  at  this  prophecy, 
uttered  with  a  conviction  that  went  far  to  assure  him 
that  it  would  really  come  to  pass.  The  uncouth  tender- 
ness revealed  in  his  first  glances  now  struggled  with  a 
fanatical  sense  of  duty  every  whit  as  exacting  as  love 
itself.  He  looked  savage  all  at  once  as  he  noticed  the  air 
of  authority  assumed  by  his  innocent  former  sweetheart. 
Francine  explained  the  Chouan's  glumness  in  her  own 
fashion. 

c So  you  will  do  nothing  for  me  ? '  she  said  in  a 
reproachful  tone.  The  Chouan  gave  his  sweetheart  a 
look,  black  as  the  raven's  wing,  at  the  words. 


no 


The  Chouans 


c  Are  you  your  own  mistress  ? '  asked  he,  in  a  growl 
that  no  one  but  Francine  could  hear. 

i  Should  I  be  here  if  I  were  ? '  she  asked  indignantly. 
!  But  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  Still  Chouanning  and 
scouring  the  roads  like  a  mad  animal  looking  for  some 
one  to  bite.  Oh,  Pierre,  if  you  were  reasonable  you 
would  come  with  me.  This  pretty  young  lady,  who,  I 
may  tell  you,  was  brought  up  in  our  house  at  home,  has 
taken  charge  of  me.  I  have  two  hundred  livres  invested 
income ;  mademoiselle  gave  five  hundred  crowns  to  buy 
my  uncle  Thomas's  big  house  for  me,  and  I  have  two 
thousand  livres  of  savings  besides.* 

But  her  smile  and  the  enumeration  of  her  riches  failed  of 
their  effect ;  she  still  confronted  Marche-a-Terre's  inscrut- 
able gaze. 

'The  recteurs  have  told  us  to  fight,'  he  replied. 
*  There  is  an  indulgence  for  every  Blue  that  drops.' 

'But  perhaps  the  Blues  will  kill  you  ! ' 

He  let  his  arms  fall  at  his  sides  by  way  of  reply,  as  if 
he  regretted  the  meagreness  of  his  sacrifice  for  God  and 
the  King.  '  And  then  what  would  become  of  me  ? '  the 
girl  went  on  sadly. 

Marche-a-Terre  looked  at  Francine  like  a  man  bereft 
of  his  faculties.  His  eyes  seemed  to  dilate,  two  tears 
stole  down  his  rough  cheeks  and  rolled  in  parallel  lines 
over  his  goatskin  raiment,  a  hollow  groan  came  from  his 
chest. 

'  Saint  Anne  of  Auray  !  is  that  all  you  will  say  to  me, 
Pierre,  after  we  have  been  parted  for  seven  years  ?  How 
changed  you  are ! ' 

'  My  love  is  always  the  same,'  the  Chouan  broke  out  in 
gruff  tones. 

'  No,'  she  murmured  ;  '  the  King  comes  before  me.' 
'  I  shall  go,'  he  said,  '  if  you  look  at  me  in  that 
way.' 

'Very  well  then,  goodbye,'  she  said  sadly, 

c  Goodbye,'   echoed  Marche  -  a  -  Terre.     He  seized 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


in 


Francine's  hand,  pressed  it  in  his  own  and  kissed  it, 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  escaped  into  the  stable 
like  some  dog  that  has  just  purloined  a  bone. 

c  Pille-Miche,'  he  called  to  his  comrade,  6 1  cannot  see 
a  bit.    Have  you  your  snuff-box  about  you  ?  * 

c  Oh !  ere  bleu^  what  a  fine  chain  ! '  said  Pille-Miche, 
fumbling  in  a  pocket  contrived  in  his  goatskin.  He  held 
out  to  Marche-a-Terre  a  little  conical  snuff-box,  made 
out  of  a  cow's-horn,  in  which  Bretons  keep  the  snuff 
that  they  grind  for  themselves  in  the  long  winter  even- 
ings. The  Chouan  raised  his  thumb  so  as  to  make  a 
cup-shaped  hollow  in  his  left  hand,  as  pensioners  are 
wont  to  do  when  measuring  their  pinches  of  snuff,  and 
shook  the  horn  into  it  vigorously,  Pille-Miche  having 
unscrewed  the  nozzle.  A  fine  dust  was  slowly  shaken 
from  the  tiny  hole  at  the  end  of  this  Breton  appurten- 
ance. Marche-a-Terre  repeated  this  feat  seven  or  eight 
times  in  silence,  as  if  the  powder  possessed  some  virtue 
for  changing  the  current  of  his  thoughts.  Then  with  a 
sudden  involuntary  gesture  of  despair,  he  flung  the  snuff- 
box to  Pille-Miche  and  picked  up  a  carbine  that  lay 
hidden  in  the  straw. 

c  There  is  no  use  in  taking  seven  or  eight  pinches  at  a 
time  like  that ! '  said  the  niggardly  Pille-Miche. 

c  Forward  ! '  cried  Marche-a-Terre  hoarsely.  6  There 
is  some  work  for  us  to  do.'  Some  thirty  Chouans,  who 
were  sleeping  under  the  hay  racks  and  in  the  straw, 
raised  their  heads  at  this,  and  seeing  Marche-a-Terre 
standing,  vanished  forthwith  through  a  door  which  led 
into  some  gardens  whence  they  could  reach  the  open 
country. 

When  Francine  left  the  stable  she  found  the  mail 
coach  ready  to  start.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  her  two 
travelling  companions  were  seated  in  it  already.  The 
Breton  girl  shuddered  to  see  her  mistress  in  the  coach 
with,  at  her  side,  the  woman  who  had  just  given  orders 
to  kill  her.    The  c  suspect '  had  placed  himself  opposite 


112 


The  Chouans 


Marie,  and  as  soon  as  Francine  took  her  seat  the  heavy 
coach  set  out  with  all  speed. 

The  grey  clouds  had  vanished  before  the  autumn  sun- 
light, which  brought  a  certain  revival  of  gladness  to  the 
melancholy  fields,  as  though  the  year  were  yet  young. 
Many  a  pair  of  lovers  read  an  augury  in  these  signs  in 
the  sky.  Silence  prevailed  among  the  travellers  at  first, 
to  Francine's  great  surprise.  xVllle.  de  Verneuil  had 
returned  to  her  former  reserve  ;  she  kept  her  head  slightly 
bent  and  her  eyes  downcast,  while  her  hands  were  hidden 
under  a  sort  of  cloak  in  which  she  had  wrapped  herself. 
If  she  raised  her  eyes  at  all,  it  was  to  look  at  the  changing 
landscape  as  she  was  whirled  through  it.  She  was  secure 
of  admiration,  and  was  declining  to  take  any  notice  of  it, 
but  her  indifference  seemed  scarcely  genuine,  and  suggested 
coquetry.  There  is  a  certain  touching  purity  which 
dominates  every  fleeting  phase  of  expression  by  which 
weaker  souls  reveal  themselves,  but  there  was  no  charm 
of  this  kind  about  this  being,  whose  highly  wrought 
temperament  had  marked  her  out  for  the  storms  of 
passion.  The  stranger  opposite  was  as  yet  altogether 
taken  up  with  the  delights  of  a  newly-begun  flirtation, 
and  did  not  try  to  reconcile  the  inconsistencies  in  this 
extraordinary  girl — a  lofty  enthusiast  and  a  coquette. 
Did  not  her  feigned  serenity  give  him  a  chance  to  study 
her  face  at  his  leisure,  rendered  as  beautiful  now  by 
repose  as  before  by  excitement  ?  We  are  not  very  apt  to 
find  fault  with  anything  that  gives  us  pleasure. 

In  a  coach  it  is  not  easy  for  a  pretty  woman  to  avoid 
the  eyes  of  her  fellow-travellers  ;  they  turn  to  her  in 
search  of  one  more  relief  from  the  tedium  of  the  journey. 
The  young  officer  therefore  took  a  pleasure  in  studying 
the  striking  and  clear-cut  outlines  of  her  face,  delighted 
to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  a  growing  passion  by  gazing  at 
her  as  at  a  picture,  without  giving  annoyance  by  his 
persistence  or  causing  the  fair  stranger  to  avoid  his 
glances. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


"3 


Sometimes  the  daylight  brought  out  the  transparent 
rose-hues  of  her  nostrils,  and  the  double  curves  that  lie 
between  the  nose  and  the  upper  lip ;  or  a  faint  sunbeam 
would  shed  its  light  upon  every  shade  of  colour  in  her 
face,  on  the  pearly  white  about  her  mouth  and  eyes,  grow- 
ing to  a  dead  ivory  tint  at  her  throat  and  temples,  and 
the  rose-red  in  her  cheeks.  He  watched  admiringly  the 
contrasts  of  the  light  and  shadow  underneath  the  masses 
of  dark  hair  about  her  face,  which  lent  to  it  one  more 
transient  grace ;  for  everything  is  transient  about  woman, 
her  yesterday's  beauty  is  not  her  beauty  of  to-day,  and 
this  is  lucky,  perhaps,  for  her. 

The  sailor,  as  he  called  himself,  was  still  at  an  age 
when  a  man  finds  bliss  in  the  nothings  that  make  up  the 
whole  of  love;  he  watched  with  pleasure  the  incessant 
movements  of  her  eyelids  ->  the  rise  and  fall  of  her  bodice 
as  she  breathed  fascinated  him.  Sometimes  his  fancy  led 
him  to  detect  a  connection  between  the  expression  of  her 
eyes  and  a  scarcely  discernible  movement  of  her  lips.  For 
him  every  gesture  was  a  revelation  of  the  young  girl's 
nature,  every  movement  showed  her  to  him  in  some  new 
aspect.  Some  thought  or  other  flickered  over  the  rapidly 
changing  features,  a  sudden  flush  of  colour  overspread 
them,  or  they  glowed  with  life  as  she  smiled ;  and  he 
would  find  inexpressible  pleasure  in  the  attempt  to 
penetrate  the  secret  thoughts  of  the  mysterious  woman 
before  him.  Everything  about  her  was  a  snare,  alike  for 
the  senses  and  the  soul.  The  silence,  so  far  from  being  a 
hindrance  to  an  intimate  understanding,  was  forging  a 
chain  of  thought  to  unite  them  both.  After  several 
encounters  with  the  stranger's  glances  Marie  de  Verneuil 
saw  that  this  silence  would  compromise  her ;  so  she 
turned  to  Mme.  du  Gua  with  one  of  those  banal  ques- 
tions that  serve  to  open  a  conversation  ;  but  even  then 
she  could  not  help  bringing  in  a  mention  of  the  lady's 
son. 

c  How  could  you  bring  yourself  to  put  your  son  into 

H 


H4 


The  Chouans 


the  navy,  madame  ? 9  said  she.  4  Do  you  not  condemn 
yourself  to  a  life  of  constant  anxiety  ? 9 

6  Mademoiselle,  it  is  the  lot  of  women — of  mothers,  I 
mean — to  tremble  constantly  for  their  dearest  treasures.' 

*  Your  son  is  very  like  you.' 

c  Do  you  think  so,  mademoiselle  ? ' 

This  serene  acceptance  of  Mme.  du  Gua's  statement  as 
to  her  age  made  the  young  man  smile,  and  provoked  a 
new  malignity  in  his  supposed  mother.  Every  glowing 
look  that  her  son  bent  on  Marie  increased  her  hatred. 
Both  the  silence  and  the  talk  inflamed  her  anger  to  a 
fearful  pitch,  though  it  was  concealed  beneath  a  most 
amiable  manner. 

'You  are  quite  mistaken,  mademoiselle,'  said  the 
stranger  ;  *  the  navy  is  not  more  exposed  to  danger  than 
the  other  service.  Women  ought  not  to  dislike  the 
navy,  for  have  we  not  one  immense  superiority  over  the 
land  forces  in  that  we  are  always  faithful  to  our  mis- 
tresses ?  ' 

1  Yes,  because  you  cannot  help  it,5  laughed  Mile,  de 
Verneuil. 

*  But  it  is  faithfulness  at  any  rate,'  said  Mme.  du  Gua, 
in  an  almost  melancholy  voice. 

The  conversation  grew  more  lively,  turning  upon 
matters  which  were  only  interesting  to  the  three 
travellers.  Under  circumstances  of  this  kind  people 
with  active  minds  are  apt  to  give  new  significances  to 
commonplace  utterances ;  but  beneath  the  apparently 
frivolous  cross  fire  of  questions  with  which  these  two 
amused  themselves,  the  feverish  hopes  and  desires  that 
stirred  in  them  lay  concealed.  Marie  was  never  off  her 
guard,  displaying  a  tact  and  astute  shrewdness  which 
taught  Mme.  du  Gua  that  only  by  employing  treachery 
and  slander  could  she  look  to  triumph  over  a  rival 
whose  wit  was  as  formidable  as  her  beauty. 

The  travellers  overtook  the  escort,  and  the  coach  went 
less  rapidly  on  its  way.    The  young  sailor  saw  that  there 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  115 

was  a  long  hill  to  climb,  and  proposed  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  that  they  should  alight  and  walk.  The  young 
man's  friendly  politeness  and  courteous  tact  had  its  effect  on 
the  fair  Parisian  ;  he  felt  her  consent  to  be  a  compliment. 

4  Are  you  of  the  same  opinion,  madame  ? 9  she  asked  of 
Mme.  du  Gua.    c  Will  you  not  join  our  walk  ? ' 

c  Coquette  ! '  exclaimed  the  lady  as  she  alighted. 

Marie  and  the  stranger  walked  together,  and  yet  asunder. 
He  already  felt  himself  mastered  by  vehement  desires, 
and  was  eager  to  break  through  the  reserve  with  which 
she  treated  him — a  reserve  that  did  not  deceive  him  in 
the  least.  He  thought  to  succeed  in  this  by  bringing  his 
lively  conversational  powers  to  bear  upon  his  companion, 
with  the  debonair  gaiety  of  old  France,  that  is  some- 
times light-hearted,  sometimes  earnest,  readily  moved  to 
laughter,  but  always  chivalrous — the  spirit  that  dis- 
tinguished the  prominent  men  among  the  exiled  aristo- 
cracy. But  the  lively  Parisian  lady  met  his  attempts  at 
frivolity  in  so  disdainful  a  humour,  rallied  him  with  such 
malicious  reproaches,  and  showed  so  marked  a  preference 
for  the  bold  and  elevated  ideas  that  passed  into  his  talk  in 
spite  of  himself,  that  he  soon  perceived  the  way  to  please 
her. 

So  the  conversation  took  another  turn.  The  stranger 
thenceforward  fulfilled  the  promises  made  by  his  eloquent 
face.  Every  moment  he  found  new  difficulties  in  under- 
standing this  siren,  who  was  captivating  him  more  and 
more  ;  and  was  compelled  to  suspend  his  judgment  upon 
a  girl  who  took  a  capricious  delight  in  contradicting  each 
conclusion  that  he  formed  concerning  her.  The  mere 
sight  of  her  beauty  had  carried  him  away  in  the  first 
instance,  and  now  he  felt  himself  strongly  drawn  towards 
this  strange  soul  by  a  curiosity  which  Marie  herself  took 
pleasure  in  stimulating.  Unconsciously  their  converse 
assumed  a  more  intimate  character  ;  the  indifferent  tone 
which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  unsuccessfully  tried  to  gwe 
to  it  had  disappeared  entirely. 


n6  The  Chouans 

Although  Mme.  du  Gua  had  followed  the  lover-like 
pair,  they  had  unwittingly  walked  faster  than  she  did,  and 
soon  found  themselves  about  a  hundred  paces  ahead  of  her. 
The  two  picturesque  beings  were  treading  the  sandy 
road,  absorbed  in  the  childish  pleasure  of  hearing  their 
light  footsteps  sounding  together,  pleased  that  the  same 
spring-like  rays  of  sunlight  should  envelope  them  both, 
glad  to  breathe  the  same  air  with  the  autumn  scent  of 
fallen  leaves  in  it,  which  seemed  to  be  a  nourishment 
brought  by  the  breeze  for  the  sentimental  melancholy 
of  their  growing  love.  Although  neither  of  them 
appeared  to  regard  their  brief  companionship  as  anything 
but  an  ordinary  adventure,  there  was  something  in  the 
sky  above  them,  in  the  season  and  in  the  place,  which 
gave  their  sentiments  a  tinge  of  soberness,  and  lent  an 
appearance  of  passion  to  them.  They  began  to  praise 
the  beauty  of  the  day,  and  then  fell  to  talking  of  their 
strange  meeting,  of  the  end  of  the  pleasant  intercourse  so 
nearly  approaching,  and  of  how  easy  it  is  to  become 
intimate  upon  a  journey  with  people,  who  are  lost  to  sight 
again  almost  directly  after  we  meet  them.  At  this  last 
observation,  the  young  man  availed  himself  of  a  tacit  per- 
mission which  seemed  to  warrant  him  in  making  some 
sentimental  confidences,  and  in  venturing  a  declaration, 
like  a  man  accustomed  to  situations  of  this  kind. 

c  Do  you  notice,  mademoiselle,'  he  said, c  how  little  our 
feelings  flow  in  their  accustomed  channels  in  these  times 
of  terror  in  which  we  live  ?  Is  there  not  a  striking  and 
unexplainable  spontaneity  about  everything  that  takes 
place  around  us  ?  We  love  nowadays,  or  we  hate,  on 
the  strength  of  a  single  glance.  We  are  bound  together 
for  life,  or  we  are  severed  with  the  same  speed  that  brings 
us  to  the  scaffold.  We  do  everything  in  haste,  like  the 
nation  in  its  ferment.  We  cling  to  each  other  more 
closely  amid  these  perils  than  in  the  common  course  of  life. 
Lately,  in  Paris,  we  have  come  to  know,  as  men  learn  on 
the  battlefield,  all  that  is  meant  by  a  grasp  of  the  hand.' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


117 


4  The  thirst  for  a  full  life  in  a  little  space,'  she  said, c  was 
felt  then  because  men  used  to  have  so  short  a  time  to  live.' 

She  gave  a  rapid  glance  at  her  companion,  which  seemed 
to  put  him  in  mind  of  the  end  of  their  brief  journey,  and 
added  maliciously, c  You  have  a  very  fair  knowledge  of  life 
for  a  young  man  just  leaving  the  Ecole  polytechnique.' 

c  What  do  you  think  of  me  ? '  he  asked  after  a  moment's 
pause  ;  c  tell  me  frankly  and  without  hesitation.' 

4  You  wish  in  turn  to  acquire  the  right  of  speaking  in 
like  fashion  of  me  ? '  she  queried,  laughing. 

c  You  are  not  answering  me,'  he  said  after  another  slight 
pause.   6  Beware  !  silence  is  very  often  an  answer  in  itself.' 

c  Did  I  not  guess  all  that  you  wished  you  could  tell  me  ? 
Ehy  mon  Dieu  !  you  have  said  too  much  already.' 

c  Oh,  if  we  understand  each  other,'  he  said,  smiling,  4 1 
have  obtained  more  than  I  dared  to  hope.' 

She  smiled  so  graciously  at  this,  that  she  seemed  willing 
to  engage  in  a  courteous  fence  in  words,  in  which  a  man 
delights  to  press  a  woman  closely.  Half  in  jest  and  half 
in  earnest,  they  persuaded  themselves  that  it  was  impos- 
sible that,  each  for  each,  they  could  ever  be  other  than 
they  were  at  that  moment.  The  young  man  could  fairly 
give  himself  up  to  a  predilection  which  had  no  future 
before  it,  and  Marie  could  laugh  at  him.  When, 
in  this  way,  they  had  set  an  imaginary  barrier  between 
them,  both  of  them  seemed  eager  to  take  full  advantage 
of  the  dangerous  liberty  which  they  had  just  acquired. 
Marie  suddenly  slipped  on  a  stone,  and  stumbled. 

'Take  my  arm,'  said  the  stranger. 

4  I  shall  have  to  do  so,  giddy-pate  !  because  you  would 
grow  so  conceited  if  I  declined.  Would  it  not  look  as  if 
I  were  afraid  of  you  ?  * 

4  Ah,  mademoiselle  ! '  he  said,  pressing  her  arm  against 
him  to  let  her  feel  the  beating  of  his  heart ;  4  you  have 
just  made  me  very  vain  by  this  favour.' 

4  Well,  then,  my  readiness  to  grant  it  will  dispel  your 
illusions.' 


n8 


The  Chouans 


c  Do  you  want  to  arm  me  already  against  the  dangerous 
emotions  you  inspire  ? ' 

c  I  beg  that  you  will  stop  this  talk,'  she  said ;  c  do  not 
involve  me  in  a  labyrinth  of  boudoir  small-talk  and  the 
jargon  of  drawing-rooms.  I  do  not  like  to  find  the  sort  of 
ingenuity  that  any  fool  can  attain  to,  in  a  man  of  your 
calibre.  Look  !  Here  are  we,  out  in  the  open  country, 
under  a  glorious  sky ;  everything  before  us  and  above  us 
is  great.  You  wish  to  inform  me  that  I  am  pretty ;  is 
that  not  so  ?  But  I  can  tell  that  quite  well  from  your 
eyes,  and  moreover  I  am  aware  of  it ;  I  am  not  a  woman 
to  be  gratified  by  civil  speeches.  Possibly  you  would 
speak  to  me  of  your  sentiments  ? '  she  went  on,  with 
sardonic  emphasis  on  the  last  word.  6  Could  you  really 
think  me  foolish  enough  to  believe  in  a  sudden  sympathy 
powerful  enough  to  control  a  whole  life  by  the  memories 
of  one  morning  ?  - 

~h  c  Not  the  memories  of  a  morning,'  he  replied,  c  but  of  a 
beautiful  woman  who  has  shown  herself  to  be  magnanimous 
as  well.' 

'  You  forget,'  she  said,  laughing, c  much  greater  attrac- 
tions than  these.  I  am  a  stranger  to  you,  and  everything 
about  me  must  seem  very  unusual  in  your  eyes — my 
name,  rank,  and  position,  and  my  freedom  of  thought  and 
action.' 

c  You  are  no  stranger  to  me,'  he  exclaimed.  c  I  have 
divined  your  nature ;  I  would  not  add  one  perfection  more 
to  your  completeness,  unless  it  were  a  little  more  belief  in 
the  love  that  you  inspire  at  first  sight.' 

*  You  poor  seventeen-year-old  boy  !  You  are  prating 
of  love  already ! '  she  smiled.  c  Very  well,  so  be  it 
then.  It  is  a  stock  subject  of  conversation  when 
any  two  creatures  meet,  like  the  wind  and  the  weather, 
when  we  pay  a  call.  Let  us  take  it  then.  You  will 
find  no  false  modesty  nor  littleness  in  me.  I  can  hear 
the  word  c<  love "  pronounced  without  blushing.  It 
has  been  said  to  me  so  very  often,  but  not  in  tones  that 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  119 

the  heart  uses,  that  it  has  grown  almost  meaningless  in  my 
ears.    I  have  heard  it  repeated  everywhere,  in  the  theatre, 
in  books  and  in  society,  but  I  have  never  met  with  any- 
thing that  resembled  the  magnificent  sentiment  itself.' 
(  Have  you  looked  for  it  ? 9 

€  Yes.'  The  word  fell  from  her  so  carelessly  that  the 
young  man  started  and  gazed  at  Marie  as  if  his  views 
with  regard  to  her  character  and  condition  had  undergone 
a  sudden  change. 

c  Mademoiselle,  are  you  girl  or  woman,  an  angel  or  a 
fiend  ? '  he  asked  with  ill-concealed  emotion. 

c  Both  the  one  and  the  other,'  she  answered  him,  smil- 
ing. c  Is  there  not  something  both  diabolical  and  angelic 
in  a  girl  who  has  never  loved,  does  not  love,  and  possibly 
never  will  love  ? ' 

c  And  you  are  happy  for  all  that  ? '  he  asked,  with  a 
certain  freedom  of  tone  and  manner,  as  if  this  woman 
who  had  liberated  him  had  fallen  in  his  esteem  already. 

4  Happy  ?  •  she  asked.  c  Oh,  no  !  When  I  happen  to 
think  how  solitary  I  am,  and  of  the  tyranny  of  social 
conventions  which  perforce  makes  a  schemer  of  me,  I 
envy  man  his  prerogatives.  Then  at  the  thought  of  all  the 
means  with  which  nature  has  endowed  us  women,  so  that 
we  can  surround  you  and  entangle  you  in  the  meshes  of 
an  invisible  power  that  not  one  of  you  can  resist,  my  lot 
here  has  its  attractions  for  me ;  and  then  all  at  once  it 
seems  to  me  a  pitiful  thing,  and  I  feel  that  I  should  despise 
a  man  who  could  be  deceived  by  these  vulgar  wiles. 
Sometimes,  in  short,  I  recognise  the  yoke  we  must  bear 
with  approval ;  then,  again,  it  is  hateful  to  me,  and  I 
rebel  against  it.  Sometimes  a  longing  stirs  within  me 
for  that  lot  of  devotion  which  makes  a  woman  so  fair  and 
noble  a  thing,  and  then  again  I  am  consumed  by  a  desire 
for  power.  This  is  perhaps  the  natural  struggle  between 
good  and  evil  instincts,  by  which  everything  lives  here 
below.  Angel  or  fiend,  did  you  say  ?  Ah,  I  do  not 
recognise  my  double  nature  to-day  for  the  first  time.  We 


120 


The  Chouans 


women  know  our  own  insufficiency  even  better  than  you 
do.  Instinctively  we  expect  in  everything  a  perfection 
which  is  no  doubt  impossible.  But,'  she  sighed  as  she 
turned  her  eyes  to  the  sky, c  there  is  one  thing  which 

ennobles  us  in  your  eyes  ' 

c  And  that  is  ?  '  asked  he. 

<  Well,  that  is  the  fact  that  we  are  all  struggling  more 
or  less  against  our  destiny  of  incompleteness.' 

'Mademoiselle,  why  must  we  take  leave  of  you  to- 
night ? ' 

c  Ah  ! '  she  said,  smiling  at  the  glowing  look  the  young 
man  turned  upon  her  ;  4  let  us  go  back  to  the  coach,  the 
fresh  air  is  not  good  for  us,'  and  Marie  hurried  back  to 
it.  As  the  stranger  followed  he  pressed  her  arm,  with 
scanty  respect  for  her,  but  in  a  manner  which  expressed 
both  his  admiration  and  the  feelings  which  had  gained 
the  mastery  over  him.  She  quickened  her  pace  ;  the 
sailor  guessed  that  she  meant  to  escape  from  a  suit 
which  might  be  urged  upon  her ;  and  this  made  him 
the  more  vehemently  eager.  He  risked  everything  to  gain 
a  first  favour  from  this  woman,  and  said  diplomatically — 

<  Shall  I  tell  you  a  secret  ? ' 

c  Oh,  at  once,  if  it  relates  to  your  own  affairs.' 

c  I  am  not  in  the  service  of  the  Republic.  Where 
are  you  going  ?    I  will  go  with  you.' 

Marie  shuddered  violentlyat  thesewords.  She  withdrew 
her  arm  from  his  and  put  both  hands  before  her  face 
to  hide  the  red  flush,  or  the  pallor  it  may  be,  that 
wrought  a  change  in  her  features ;  then  in  a  moment 
she  uncovered  her  face  and  said  in  a  tremulous  voice — 

c  So  you  began  as  you  would  fain  have  ended,  by 
deceiving  me  ? ' 

c  Yes,'  he  said.  She  turned  her  back  on  the  bulky 
coach  towards  which  they  were  walking,  and  almost 
started  to  run. 

4  But  just  now  the  fresh  air  was  not  good  '  began 

the  stranger.    c  Oh,  it  is  different  now,'  she  said  with 


A  Notion  of  Fouche  s 


121 


a  sad  note  in  her  voice,  and  she  walked  on  ;  a  storm  of 
thoughts  was  raging  within  her. 

c  You  are  silent  ? '  the  stranger  said.  His  heart  was 
full  of  joyous  anticipation  of  pleasure  to  come. 

c  Oh  ! '  she  cried  briefly,  c  how  quickly  the  tragedy 
has  begun  ! ' 

c  What  tragedy  are  you  talking  of  ? '  he  inquired. 
She  stopped  short,  scanning  the  pupil  from  the  Ecole 
with  both  fear  and  curiosity  in  her  looks,  then  she  con- 
cealed her  troubled  feelings  beneath  an  inscrutable 
serenity ;  evidently  for  so  young  a  woman  she  had  no 
small  practical  knowledge  of  life. 

c  Who  are  you  ?  9  she  went  on.  c  But  I  know  who 
you  are.  I  suspected  you  at  first  sight.  Are  you  not 
the  Royalist  chief  called  the  Gars  ?  The  ex-bishop  of 
Autun  was  quite  right  when  he  cautioned  us  to 
believe  in  our  forebodings  of  ill.' 

4  What  interest  can  there  be  for  you  in  knowing  that 
fellow  ? 9 

cWhat  interest  could  he  have  in  concealing  his  identity 
when  I  have  saved  his  life  already  ? 9  She  began  to  laugh, 
but  it  was  with  visible  effort.  6 1  did  wisely,'  she  said, 
c  when  I  prevented  you  from  making  love  to  me. 
Understand  this,  sir,  you  are  abhorrent  to  me.  I  am  a 
Republican,  you  are  a  Royalist ;  I  would  give  you  up 
if  I  had  not  passed  my  word,  if  I  had  not  saved  your  life 

once  already,  and  if   '     She  broke  off.  These 

stormy  revulsions  of  feeling,  the  struggle  which  she 
scarcely  troubled  herself  to  hide  from  him  any  longer, 
alarmed  the  stranger.  He  tried  to  watch  her,  but  to  no 
purpose. 

4  Let  us  part  at  once,  I  will  have  it  so.  Good-bye  !  9 
said  she.  She  turned  sharply  from  him,  took  a  step  or 
two,  and  then  came  back  again. 

1  Nay,'  she  said,  c  it  is  of  immense  importance  to  me 
to  know  who  you  really  are.  Do  not  hide  anything ; 
tell  me  the  truth.    Who  are  you  ?    You  are  no  more  a 


122 


The  Chouans 


pupil  of  the  Ecole  polytechnique  than  a  seventeen  year 
old  ' 

c  I  am  a  sailor,  ready  to  leave  the  sea  to  follow  you 
wherever  your  fancy  may  lead  me.  If  I  am  fortunate 
enough  to  represent  a  puzzle  of  some  sort  to  you,  I  shall 
be  very  careful  not  to  extinguish  your  interest  in  it. 
Why  should  we  bring  the  grave  cares  of  real  life  into 
the  life  of  the  heart,  in  which  we  were  coming  to  under- 
stand one  another  so  well  ? ' 

c  Our  souls  could  have  met  and  known  each  other,' 
she  said  earnestly.  c  But  I  have  no  right  to  demand  your 
confidence,  sir.  You  shall  never  know  the  extent  of 
your  obligations  to  me  \  I  will  say  no  more.'  They 
went  some  little  way  in  absolute  silence. 

(You  take  a  great  interest  in  my  life/  the  stranger 
began. 

c  For  pity's  sake,  sir,  either  give  me  your  name,  or  do 
not  speak.  You  are  a  child,  and  I  am  sorry  for  you,' 
she  added,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 

The  persistent  way  in  which  his  fellow  traveller  set 
herself  to  learn  his  secret  brought  the  supposed  sailor 
into  a  predicament  between  ordinary  prudence  and  his 
desires.  A  powerful  attraction  lies  in  the  displeasure  of 
a  woman  we  long  to  win ;  and  when  she  yields  and 
relents,  no  less  than  in  her  anger,  her  sway  is  absolute  ; 
she  seizes  upon  so  many  fibres  of  man's  heart  as  she 
subdues  and  penetrates  it.  Was  her  vexation  one  more 
wile  of  the  coquette  in  Mile,  de  Verneuil  ?  In  spite 
of  the  fever  that  burned  within  him,  the  stranger  had 
sufficient  remaining  self-control  to  mistrust  a  woman 
who  wished  to  extort  his  secret  of  life  and  death  from 
him.  He  held  the  hand  which  she  absently  allowed 
him  to  take.  'Why,'  said  he  to  himself,  'should  my 
blundering,  which  sought  to  add  a  future  to  to-day,  have 
destroyed  all  the  charm  of  it  instead  ? 9 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  seemed  to  be  in  great  trouble, 
was  silent. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


123 


c  In  what  way  is  it  possible  that  I  can  give  you  pain  ? 9 
he  began,  c  and  what  can  I  do  to  soothe  you  ? ' 

c  Tell  me  your  name.'  It  was  his  turn  to  be  silent 
now,  and  they  walked  on  some  steps  further.  Then 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  suddenly  stopped,  like  some  one  who 
has  made  a  momentous  decision. 

4  Marquis  of  Montauran,'  she  said  with  dignity,  though 
she  could  not  altogether  hide  the  inward  agitation  which 
gave  a  kind  of  nervous  trembling  to  her  features.  c  I 
am  happy  to  do  you  a  service,  at  whatever  personal  cost. 
Here  we  must  separate.  The  coach  and  the  escort  are 
too  necessary  for  your  safety  for  you  to  decline  to  accept 
either  of  them.  You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  the 
Republicans ;  all  those  soldiers  you  see  are  men  of 
honour,  and  I  shall  give  orders  to  the  adjutant  which  he 
will  carry  out  faithfully.  I  myself  shall  return  on  foot 
to  Alen^on ;  my  maid  and  a  few  of  the  soldiers  will  go 
back  with  me.  Heed  me  well,  for  your  life  is  in  danger. 
If  before  you  are  in  safety  you  should  meet  the  detestable 
muscadin  whom  you  saw  in  the  inn,  then  you  must  fly, 

for  he  would  immediately  give  you  up.    As  for  me  ' 

here  she  paused,  and  then  went  on  in  a  low  voice  as  she 
kept  back  the  tears,  c  I  shall  plunge  once  more  into  the 
miseries  of  life  with  a  proud  heart.  Farewell,  sir. 
May  you  be  happy,  and,  farewell  1 

She  beckoned  to  Captain  Merle,  who  had  reached  the 
top  of  the  hill.  The  young  man  was  not  prepared  for 
such  a  sudden  development  as  this. 

c  Stay  ! '  he  cried  with  a  very  fair  imitation  of  despair. 
The  stranger  had  been  so  taken  by  surprise  at  this  singular 
freak  on  the  girl's  part,  that  though  he  was  ready,  at 
that  moment,  to  sacrifice  his  life  to  gain  her,  he  invented 
a  pitiable  subterfuge  to  satisfy  Mile,  de  Verneuil  without 
revealing  his  name. 

4  Your  guess  was  a  very  near  one,'  he  said  ;  c  I  am  an 
Emigrant  under  sentence  of  death,  and  I  am  called  the 
Vicomte  de  Bauvan.   I  came  back  to  be  near  my  brother 


I24 


The  Chouans 


in  France,  drawn  by  the  love  of  my  country.  I  hope  to 
be  struck  out  of  the  list  through  the  influence  of  Mme. 
de  Beauharnais,  who  is  now  the  First  Consul's  wife; 
but  if  that  fails,  I  mean  at  any  rate  to  die  on  French  soil — 
to  fall  fighting  by  the  side  of  my  friend  Montauran.  I 
am  going,  in  the  first  place,  secretly  into  Brittany  by 
the  help  of  a  passport  that  I  have  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing, to  learn  if  any  of  my  property  there  yet  remains 
to  me.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  studied  the  young  gentleman  as  he 
spoke  with  keen  attention.  She  tried  to  weigh  the 
truth  of  his  words,  but  it  was  in  her  nature  to  be  trustful 
and  credulous,  and  her  appearance  of  tranquillity  slowly 
returned  as  she  asked,  4  Is  all  that  you  have  just  told  me 
true,  sir  ?  * 

4  Absolutely  true,'  the  stranger  repeated,  who  appeared 
to  regard  veracity  but  slightly  in  his  dealings  with  women. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  heaved  a  deep  sigh  like  one  coming  to 
life  again. 

4  Ah  !  I  am  really  happy  ! '  cried  she. 

c  So  you  quite  hate  my  poor  Montauran  ! ' 

*  No,'  she  said  ;  4  you  cannot  understand  me.  I  did  not 
wish  that  you  should  be  threatened  by  dangers  from 
which  I  will  try  to  shield  him,  since  he  is  your  friend.' 

4  Who  told  you  that  Montauran  was  in  danger  ?  ' 

4  Oh,  sir,  if  I  had  not  just  left  Paris,  where  nothing  but 
his  adventure  is  being  talked  of,  the  commandant  told 
us  quite  sufficient  about  him  at  Alen^on,  I  think.' 

4  Then  I  am  going  to  ask  you  in  what  way  you  could 
shield  him  from  danger.' 

c  And  suppose  I  should  not  choose  to  answer  !  '  she 
said,  with  the  haughty  expression  which  women  so 
readily  assume  to  conceal  their  feelings.  4  What  right 
have  you  to  know  my  secrets  ? 1 

4  The  right  that  a  man  who  loves  you  ought  to  have.' 

4  Already  ?  '  said  she.    4  No,  sir,  you  do  not  love 

me  ;  for  you  I  am  simply  a  fitting  object  for  a  passing 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


125 


affair  of  gallantry.  Did  I  not  read  your  thoughts  at  the 
first  glance  ?  Could  a  woman  with  any  experience  of 
good  society,  as  manners  are  at  present,  be  deceived 
about  you,  when  she  hears  a  pupil  from  the  Ecole 
polytechnique  choose  his  expressions  as  you  do,  and 
when  he  so  clumsily  disguises  his  courtly  breeding 
beneath  an  appearance  of  Republicanism.  There  is  a  trace 
of  powder  about  your  hair,  an  aristocratic  atmosphere  about 
you  which  any  woman  of  the  world  would  recognise  at 
once.  It  was  because  I  trembled  for  you  that  I  so 
promptly  dismissed  my  director,  whose  wits  are  as  keen 
as  a  woman's.  A  genuine  Republican  officer  from  the 
Ecole,  sir,  would  never  have  thought  to  make  a  conquest 
of  me,  nor  would  he  have  taken  me  for  a  good-looking 
adventuress.  Permit  me,  M.  de  Bauvan,  to  put  a  small 
piece  of  feminine  reasoning  before  you.  Are  you  really 
so  young  that  you  do  not  know  that  the  most  diffi- 
cult conquests  to  make  are  of  those  creatures  of  our  sex 
whose  market  value  is  known  and  who  are  satiated  with 
pleasure  ?  To  gain  that  kind  of  woman,  so  they  say, 
great  inducements  are  needed,  and  she  only  surrenders  at 
her  own  caprice ;  to  attempt  to  make  any  impression 
upon  her  would  be  the  acme  of  self-conceit  in  a  man.  > 
Let  us  leave  out  of  the  question  the  women  of  the  class 
in  which  you  are  so  gallant  as  to  include  me  (because  it 
is  understood  that  they  all  must  be  beautiful),  and  you 
ought  to  see  that  a  witty  and  beautiful  young  woman  of 
good  birth  (for  you  concede  those  advantages  to  me)  is  not 
to  be  purchased — there  is  but  one  way  of  winning  her,  she 
must  be  loved.  Now  you  understand  me  !  If  she  loves, 
and  condescends  to  folly,  there  must  be  something  great 
in  it  to  justify  her  in  her  own  eyes.  Pardon  an  exuber- 
ance of  reasoning,  not  often  met  with  in  persons  of  my 
sex  ;  but  for  your  own  sake,  and — for  mine,'  she  added, 
with  a  bend  of  her  head,  c  I  would  not  have  either  of 
us  deceived  as  to  the  worth  of  the  other,  nor  would  I 
have  you  believe  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whether  fiend 


126 


The  Chouans 


or  angel,  girl  01  woman,  could  allow  herself  to  be 
captivated  by  the  commonplaces  of  gallantry.' 

c  Mademoiselle,'  began  the  supposed  viscount,  whose 
surprise  was  extreme,  although  he  concealed  it,  and  who 
suddenly  became  once  more  a  very  fine  gentleman, c  I  beg 
of  you  to  believe  that  I  will  look  upon  you  as  a  very 
noble  woman,  full  of  lofty  and  generous  feeling,  or  as  a 
kind-hearted  girl — whichever  you  choose.' 

6 1  do  not  ask  so  much  of  you,  sir,'  she  said,  laughing. 
4  Leave  me  my  incognito.  My  mask,  moreover,  fits 
more  closely  than  yours  does,  and  it  pleases  me  to  retain 
it,  if  only  that  I  may  know  whether  people  who  speak 
of  love  to  me  are  sincere.  .  .  .  Do  not  venture  to 
approach  me  so  heedlessly.  Hear  me,  sir,'  she  went  on, 
grasping  his  arm  firmly,  f  if  you  could  satisfy  me  that 
your  love  was  sincere,  no  power  on  earth  should  sunder 
us.  Yes,  I  could  wish  to  share  in  the  larger  life  of  a 
man,  to  be  wedded  to  lofty  ambitions  and  great  thoughts. 
Unfaithfulness  is  impossible  to  noble  hearts  ;  constancy  is 
a  part  of  their  natural  strength.  I  should  be  always  loved, 
always  happy.  But  yet,  I  should  not  be  ready  at  all 
times  to  lay  myself  under  the  feet  of  the  man  I  loved  as  a 
step  upon  which  he  might  rise  in  his  career.  I  could  not 
give  up  all  things  for  him,  endure  all  things  from  him, 
and  still  love  on,  even  when  he  had  ceased  to  love  me.  I 
have  never  yet  ventured  to  confide  the  longings  of  my  own 
heart  to  another,  nor  to  speak  of  the  impassioned  impulses 
of  the  enthusiasm  that  consumes  me  ;  but  I  can  readily 
speak  to  you  of  them  to  some  extent,  because  the 
moment  that  you  are  in  safety,  we  shall  separate.' 

c  Separate  ?— never  ! '  he  cried,  electrified  by  the  tones 
of  her  voice,  through  which  a  powerful  soul  vibrated,  a 
soul  at  strife,  as  it  seemed,  with  some  vast  thought. 

c  Are  you  free  ? '  she  asked  with  a  scornful  glance  at 
him  which  made  him  shrink. 

*  Oh,  free — yes  ;  but  for  the  sentence  of  death.' 

Then  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  was  full  of  bitterness, c  If 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


127 


this  were  not  all  a  dream,  what  a  glorious  life  ours  should 
be  !  But  let  us  commit  no  follies,  though  I  may  have 
talked  foolishly.  Everything  seems  doubtful  when  I 
think  of  all  that  you  ought  to  become  before  you  can 
appreciate  me  at  my  just  worth.' 

c  And  nothing  would  be  doubtful  to  me  if  you  would 
be  mine  ' 

c  Hush  ! '  she  cried,  as  she  heard  the  words,  with  a 
genuine  ring  of  passion  in  them ;  c  the  air  is  certainly 
no  longer  wholesome  for  us,  let  us  go  back  to  our 
chaperons.' 

It  was  not  long  before  the  coach  overtook  the  two, 
who  resumed  their  places,  and  they  went  on  in  silence  for 
several  leagues.  If  both  of  them  had  plenty  to  think 
about,  their  eyes  henceforth  avoided  each  other  no  more. 
Each  seemed  to  have,  since  their  conversation,  an  equal 
interest  in  watching  the  other,  and  in  keeping  an  im- 
portant secret  hidden ;  yet  each  also  felt  attracted  to  the 
other  by  a  desire  which  had  risen  to  the  degree  of  passion, 
as  each  recognised  characteristics  which  enhanced  the 
pleasure  they  expected  to  receive  from  union  or  from 
conflict.  Perhaps  both  of  them,  embarked  upon  their 
lives  of  adventure,  had  come  to  the  strange  condition  of 
mind  when,  either  from  weariness,  or  by  way  of  a 
challenge  to  fate,  we  decline  to  reflect  seriously  over  the 
course  we  are  pursuing,  and  yield  ourselves  up  to  the 
caprices  of  fortune,  precisely  because  there  is  but  one 
possible  issue,  which  we  behold  as  the  inevitable  result  of 
it  all.  Are  there  not  abysses  and  declivities  in  the  moral 
as  in  the  physical  world,  wherein  vigorous  natures  love  to 
plunge  and  endanger  their  existence,  with  the  joy  of  a 
gambler  who  stakes  his  whole  fortune  on  one  throw  ? 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  the  young  noble  had  in  a  manner 
come  to  understand  these  ideas,  which  were  common 
to  them  both  since  the  conversation  which  had  given 
rise  to  them ;  and  both  had  suddenly  made  great  pro- 
gress when  the  sympathy  of  the  soul  had  followed  that 


128 


The  Chouans 


of  their  senses.  For  all  that,  the  more  inevitably  they 
felt  drawn  towards  each  other,  the  more  they  became 
absorbed  in  unconsciously  counting  up  the  amount  of 
happiness  to  come  for  them,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the 
additional  pleasure. 

The  young  man  had  not  recovered  from  his  amaze- 
ment at  the  depths  of  thought  in  this  extraordinary  girl  -> 
and  he  began  with  wondering  how  she  could  combine  so 
much  experience  with  such  youthful  freshness.  He  next 
thought  that  he  discerned  an  intense  desire  to  appear 
innocent  in  the  studied  innocence  of  Marie's  general 
behaviour ;  he  suspected  this  to  be  assumed.  He  took 
himself  to  task  for  his  delight,  and  could  only  see  a  clever 
actress  in  this  fair  stranger.  He  was  quite  right.  Mile, 
de  Verneuil,  like  all  girls  who  have  been  early  thrown  on 
the  world,  became  more  and  more  reserved  as  her  feelings 
grew  warmer ;  and,  very  naturally,  she  assumed  that 
prudish  mien  which  women  use  successfully  to  conceal 
their  violent  desires.  All  women  would  fain  meet  love 
with  a  maiden  soul,  and  when  it  is  theirs  no  longer,  their 
hypocrisy  is  a  tribute  with  which  they  welcome  love's 
coming.  These  were  the  thoughts  that  passed  rapidly 
through  the  mind  of  the  noble,  and  gave  him  pleasure. 

Both  of  them,  in  fact,  could  not  but  make  some 
progress  in  love  by  this  examination.    In  this  way  a  lover 
swiftly  reaches  the  point  where  the  defects  in  his  mistress 
are  so  many  reasons  for  loving  her  the  more.    Mile,  de 
VerneuiPs  meditations  lasted  longer  than  those  of  the 
Emigrant ;  perhaps  her  imagination  took  flight  over  a  J 
wider  stretching  future.    He  was  obeying  but  one  of  a  j 
thousand  impulses  that  go  to  make  up  a  man's  experience  I 
in  life ;  but  the  girl  foresaw  her  whole  future,  taking  a  ! 
pleasure  in  making  it  fair  and  full  of  happiness  and  of j 
great  and  noble  ideas.   So  in  these  dreams  she  was  happy,  I 
the  present  and  the  future,  her  wild  fancies,  and  the  actual  | 
reality  alike  charmed  her ;  and  Marie  now  sought  to  | 
retrace  her  steps,  the  better  to  establish  her  power  over 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


the  young  man's  heart,  acting  in  this  instinctively,  as  all 
women  do. 

After  she  had  determined  to  surrender  herself  entirely, 
she  wished,  so  to  speak,  to  yield  inch  by  inch.  She 
would  fain  have  recalled  every  action,  every  look  and 
word  in  the  past,  to  make  them  in  accord  with  the 
dignity  of  a  woman  who  is  loved ;  her  eyes  at  times 
expressed  a  kind  of  terror  as  she  brooded  over  the  bold 
attitude  she  had  assumed  in  their  late  conversation.  But 
as  she  looked  at  his  resolute  face  again,  she  thought 
that  one  so  strong  must  needs  be  generous  too,  and 
exulted  within  herself  that  a  lot  more  glorious  than  that  of 
most  other  women  had  fallen  to  her,  in  that  her  lover  was 
a  man  of  powerful  character,  a  man  with  a  death-sentence 
hanging  over  him,  who  had  just  put  his  own  life  in  peril 
to  make  war  upon  the  Republic.  The  thought  that  such 
a  soul  as  this  was  hers  alone,  with  no  other  to  share  it, 
gave  a  different  complexion  to  everything  else.  Between 
that  moment,  only  five  hours  ago,  when  she  had  arranged 
her  face  and  voice  so  as  to  attract  this  gentleman,  and  the 
present,  when  she  could  perturb  him  with  a  glance,  there 
lay  a  difference  as  great  as  between  a  dead  and  a  living 
world.  Beneath  her  frank  laughter  and  blithe  coquetry 
lay  a  hidden  and  mighty  passion  tricked  out,  like  mis- 
fortune, in  a  smile. 

In  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  state  of  mind  everything  con- 
nected with  external  life  partook  of  the  nature  of  a 
phantom  show.  The  coach  passed  through  villages,  and 
over  hills  and  valleys,  which  left  no  traces  in  her  memory. 
She  reached  Mayenne,  the  escort  of  soldiers  was  changed, 
Merle  came  to  speak  to  her,  and  she  answered  him,  she 
crossed  the  town,  and  they  went  on  again ; — but  faces  and 
houses,  streets,  and  landscapes,  and  men,  passed  by  her  like 
the  shadowy  forms  of  a  dream.  Night  came  on.  Marie 
travelled  along  the  road  to  Fougeres  by  the  soft  light  of 
the  brilliant  stars  in  the  sky,  and  it  never  struck  her  that 
there  was  any  change  in  the  heaven  above  her.  She 

i 


The  Chouans 


neither  knew  where  Mayenne  was,  nor  Fougeres,  nor  her 
own  destination  ;  that,  in  a  few  hours,  she  might  have 
to  part  with  the  man  whom  she  had  chosen,  and  by  whom, 
as  she  thought,  she  herself  had  been  chosen  too,  was 
an  utter  impossibility  to  her.  Love  is  the  one  passion 
which  knows  neither  past  nor  future.  If  she  betrayed 
her  thoughts  in  words  at  times,  the  sentences  that  fell 
from  her  were  almost  meaningless,  but  in  her  lover's 
heart  they  echoed  like  promises  of  joy.  There  were  two 
who  looked  on  at  this  new-born  passion,  and  its  progress 
under  their  eyes  was  alarmingly  rapid.  Francine  knew 
Marie  as  thoroughly  as  the  stranger  lady  knew  the  young 
man  ;  and  past  experience  led  them  to  expect  in  silence 
some  terrific  catastrophe.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  not 
long  before  they  saw  the  close  of  this  drama,  which  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  had,  perhaps,  in  words  of  unconscious  ill 
omen,  entitled  a  tragedy. 

When  the  four  travellers  had  come  about  a  league  out 
of  Mayenne,  they  heard  a  horseman  coming  towards 
them  at  a  furious  pace.  As  soon  as  he  caught  them  up, 
he  bent  down  and  looked  in  the  coach  for  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  who  recognised  Corentin.  This  ill-omened 
individual  took  it  upon  himself  to  make  a  significant 
gesture  with  a  familiarity  which  for  her  had  something 
scathing  in  it,  and  then  departed,  having  made  her  cold 
and  wretched  by  this  vulgar  signal. 

This  occurrence  seemed  to  affect  the  Emigrant  dis- 
agreeably, which  fact  was  by  no  means  lost  on  his 
supposed  mother ;  but  Marie  touched  him  lightly,  and 
her  look  seemed  to  seek  a  refuge  in  his  heart,  as  if  there 
lay  the  one  shelter  that  she  had  on  earth.  The  young 
man's  brow  grew  clear,  as  he  felt  a  thrill  of  emotion, 
that  his  mistress  should  thus  have  allowed  him  to  see,  in- 
advertently as  it  were,  the  extent  of  her  attachment  to  him. 
All  her  coquetry  had  vanished  before  an  inexplicable 
dread,  and  love  had  shown  himself  for  a  moment  unveiled. 
Neither  of  them  spoke,  as  if  the  sweet  moment  so  might 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


last  a  little  longer.  Unluckily,  Mme  du  Gua  in  their 
midst  saw  everything ;  like  a  miser  giving  a  banquet,  she 
seemed  to  count  their  morsels,  and  to  measure  out  their 
life. 

Altogether  absorbed  in  their  happiness,  and  without  a 
thought  of  the  way  they  had  come,  the  two  lovers  arrived 
at  the  part  of  the  road  which  lies  along  the  bottom  of 
the  valley  of  Ernee,  forming  the  first  of  the  three  valleys 
among  which  the  events  took  place  with  which  this  story 
opened.  Francine  saw  and  pointed  out  strange  forms 
which  seemed  to  move  like  shadows  through  the  trees 
and  the  ajoncs  that  bordered  the  fields.  As  the  coach 
came  towards  these  shadows,  there  was  a  general  discharge 
of  muskets,  and  the  whistling  of  balls  over  their  heads 
told  the  travellers  that  all  these  phantoms  were  substantial 
enough.    The  escort  had  fallen  into  an  ambush. 

At  this  sharp  fusillade,  Captain  Merle  keenly  regretted 
his  share  in  Mile,  de  VerneuiPs  miscalculation.  She  had 
thought  that  the  quick  night  journey  would  be  attended 
with  so  little  risk,  that  she  had  only  allowed  him  to  bring 
sixty  men.  Acting  under  Gerard's  orders,  the  captain 
immediately  divided  the  little  troop  into  two  columns  to 
hold  the  road  on  either  side,  and  both  officers  advanced 
at  a  running  pace  through  the  fields  of  broom  and  furze, 
seeking  to  engage  their  adversaries  before  even  learning 
their  numbers.  The  Blues  began  to  beat  up  the  thick 
under-growth  right  and  left  with  rash  intrepidity,  and 
kept  up  an  answering  fire  upon  the  bushes  of  broom  from 
which  the  Chouan  volley  had  come. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil's  first  impulse  had  led  her  to  spring 
out  of  the  coach  and  to  run  back,  so  as  to  put  some  dis- 
tance between  her  and  the  scene  of  the  fray.  But  she 
grew  ashamed  of  her  fright ;  and,  under  the  influence  or 
the  desire  to  grow  great  in  the  eyes  of  her  beloved,  she 
stood  quite  still,  and  tried  to  make  a  cool  survey  of  the 
fight.  The  Emigrant  followed  her,  took  her  hand,  and 
held  it  to  his  heart. 


132 


The  Chouans 


'  I  was  frightened,'  she  said,  smiling,  c  but  now  * 

Just  at  that  moment  her  terrified  maid  called  to  her, 
i  Take  care,  Marie  ! 9  But  as  Francine  attempted  to 
spring  from  the  coach,  she  felt  the  grasp  of  a  strong  hand 
arrest  her.  The  heavy  weight  of  that  huge  hand  drew  a 
sharp  cry  from  her ;  she  turned  and  made  not  another 
sound  when  she  recognised  Marche-a-Terre's  face. 

i  So  I  must  owe  to  your  fears  the  disclosure  of  the 
sweetest  of  all  secrets  for  the  heart,'  the  stranger  said  to 
Mile,  de  Verneuil.  (  Thanks  to  Francine,  I  have  found 
out  that  you  are  called  by  the  gracious  name  of  Marie — 
Marie,  the  name  that  has  been  on  my  lips  in  every 
sorrow  I  have  known  !  Marie,  the  name  that  henceforth 
I  shall  utter  in  joy.  I  shall  never  more  pronounce  it 
without  committing  sacrilege,  without  confusing  my 
religion  with  my  love  !  But  will  it  be  a  sin,  after  all,  to 
love  and  pray  at  the  same  time  ? 9  They  pressed  each 
other's  hands  fervently  as  he  spoke,  and  looked  at  each 
other  in  silence  -9  the  strength  of  their  feelings  had  taken 
from  them  all  power  of  expressing  them. 

c  There  is  no  harm  meant  for  you  people,'  Marche-a- 
Terre  said  roughly  to  Francine.  There  was  a  note  of 
menace  and  reproach  in  the  hoarse  guttural  sounds  of  his 
voice ;  he  laid  a  stress  upon  every  word  in  a  way  that 
paralysed  the  innocent  peasant  girl. 

For  the  first  time  she  was  confronted  with  cruelty  in 
Marche-a-Terre's  expression.  Moonlight  seemed  the 
only  suitable  illumination  for  such  a  face.  The  fierce 
Breton,  with  his  cap  in  one  hand  and  his  heavy  carbine  in 
the  other,  and  with  his  squat  gnome-like  form  in  the  cold 
white  rays  of  light  which  give  everything  an  unfamiliar 
look,  seemed  to  belong  rather  to  fairyland  than  to  this 
world.  There  was  a  shadowy  swiftness  about  the  coming 
of  this  phantom  and  his  reproachful  exclamation.  He 
turned  immediately  to  Mme.  du  Gua  and  exchanged 
some  earnest  words  with  her.  Francine  had  forgotten 
her  Bas  Breton,  and  could  make  nothing  of  their  talk. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


*33 


The  lady  seemed  to  be  giving  a  complication  of  orders  to 
Marche-a-Terre,  and  the  short  conference  was  terminated 
by  an  imperious  gesticulation  on  her  part,  as  she  pointed 
out  the  two  lovers  to  the  Chouan. 

Before  he  obeyed  her,  Marche-a-Terre  gave  Francine 
one  last  look.  He  seemed  to  be  sorry  for  her,  and  would 
have  spoken,  but  the  Breton  girl  felt  that  her  lover  was 
obliged  to  keep  silent.  There  were  furrows  in  the  rough 
sun-burned  skin  on  his  forehead ;  the  man's  brows  were 
drawn  together  in  a  heavy  frown.  Would  he  disobey 
this  renewed  order  to  take  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  life  ? 
Mme.  du  Gua,  no  doubt,  thought  him  the  more  hideous 
for  this  grimace,  but  to  Francine  there  was  an  almost 
tender  gleam  in  his  eyes.  The  look  told  her  that  it  was 
in  her  woman's  power  to  direct  that  fierce  will,  and  she 
hoped  yet  to  establish  her  sway  after  God's  in  this  wild 
heart. 

Marie's  tender  conversation  was  interrupted  by  Mme. 
du  Gua,  who  caught  hold  of  her  with  a  cry,  as  if  danger 
was  at  hand.  She  had  recognised  one  of  the  Royalist 
Committee  from  Alen^on,  and  her  sole  object  was  to 
gain  for  him  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  the  Emigrant. 

c  Mistrust  the  girl  whom  you  met  at  the  sign  of  the 
c<  Three  Moors  !  " '  so  said  the  Chevalier  de  Valois  in  the 
young  man's  ear,  and  then  both  he  and  the  Breton  pony 
which  he  rode  disappeared  in  the  bushes  of  broom  whence 
he  had  issued.  The  sharp  rolling  fire  of  the  skirmish 
became  at  this  moment  astonishingly  hot,  but  the  com- 
batants could  not  come  to  close  quarters. 

c  Is  not  this  attack  a  feint,  adjutant,  so  that  they  may 
kidnap  our  travellers  and  hold  them  for  ransom  ? '  sug- 
gested Clef-des-Cceurs. 

c  Devil  fetch  me,  you  are  on  the  right  track  !  *  was 
Gerard's  answer,  as  he  flung  himself  on  the  road. 

The  Chouan  fire  grew  slacker.  They  had  gained  their 
object  in  the  skirmish  when  the  Chevalier's  communica- 
tion was  made  to  the  chief.     Merle  saw  them  drawing 


f34 


The  Chouans 


off  through  the  hedges,  a  few  at  a  time,  and  did  not 
consider  it  expedient  to  engage  in  a  useless  and  dangerous 
struggle.  The  captain  had  a  chance  to  hand  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  back  into  the  carriage,  for  there  stood  the  noble, 
like  one  thunderstruck.  The  Parisian  in  her  surprise  got 
in  without  availing  herself  of  the  Republican's  courtesy  ; 
she  turned  to  look  at  her  lover,  saw  him  standing  there 
motionless,  and  was  bewildered  by  the  sudden  change  just 
wrought  in  him  by  the  Chevalier's  words.  Slowly  the 
young  Emigrant  returned  ;  his  manner  disclosed  a  feeling 
of  intense  disgust. 

c  Was  I  not  right  ? '  Mme.  du  Gua  said  in  his  ear,  as 
she  went  back  with  him  to  the  coach.  i  We  are  certainly 
in  the  hands  of  a  creature  who  has  struck  a  bargain  for 
your  life ;  but  since  she  is  fool  enough  to  be  smitten 
with  you  instead  of  attending  to  her  business,  do  not 
behave  yourself  like  a  child,  but  pretend  that  you  love 
her  until  we  reach  the  Vivetiere,  and  once  there — Is  he 
really  in  love  with  her  already  ? '  she  added  to  herself,  for 
the  young  man  did  not  move,  and  stood  like  one  lost  in 
dreams. 

The  coach  rolled  on  almost  noiselessly  over  the  sandy 
road.  At  the  first  glance  round  about  her  everything 
seemed  changed  for  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  The  shadow  of 
death  had  stolen  across  love  already.  The  differences 
were  the  merest  shades  perhaps  ;  but  such  shades  as  these 
are  as  strongly  marked  as  the  most  glaring  hues  for  a 
woman  who  loves.  Francine  had  learned  from  Marche- 
a-Terre's  expression  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  fate,  over 
which  she  had  bidden  him  to  watch,  was  in  other  hands 
than  his.  Whenever  she  met  her  mistress's  eyes,  she 
turned  pale,  and  could  scarcely  keep  back  the  tears.  The 
rancour  prompting  a  feminine  revenge  was  but  ill  con- 
cealed by  the  feigned  smiles  of  the  stranger  lady.  The 
sudden  change  in  her  manner,  the  elaborate  kindness  for 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  infused  into  her  voice  and  expression, 
was  sufficient  to  alarm  any  quick-sighted  woman.  Mile. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  135 

de  Verneuil  shuddered  instinctively,  and  asked  herself, 
4  Why  did  I  shudder  ?  Is  she  not  his  mother  ? '  But 
she  trembled  in  every  limb  as  she  suddenly  asked  herself, 
4 But  is  she  really  his  mother?'  Then  she  saw  the 
precipice  before  her,  and  a  final  glance  at  the  man's  face 
made  it  plain  to  her. 

c  This  woman  loves  him  ! '  she  thought.  c  But  why 
should  she  overwhelm  me  with  attentions  after  having 
shown  so  much  coolness  to  me  ?  Is  it  possible  that  she 
fears  me,  or  am  I  lost  ? ' 

As  for  the  Emigre,  he  was  red  and  pale  by  turns  ;  he 
retained  his  apparently  calm  manner  by  lowering  his  eyes, 
to  conceal  the  strange  emotions  that  warred  within  him. 
His  lips  were  pressed  together  so  tightly  that  their  gracious 
curving  outlines  were  disturbed  ;  a  yellowish  tint,  due 
to  the  violent  conflict  in  his  mind,  overspread  his  face. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not  even  discover  if  there  was  a 
lingering  trace  of  love  in  all  this  passion.  Woods  lined 
the  road  on  either  side  at  this  spot,  and  it  became  so  dark 
that  the  mute  actors  in  the  drama  could  no  longer  question 
each  other  with  their  eyes.  The  sough  of  the  wind 
rustling  through  the  woods,  and  the  even  paces  of  their 
escort,  gave  a  tinge  of  awe  to  the  time  and  place,  a 
solemnity  that  quickens  the  beating  of  the  heart. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not  long  seek  in  vain  for  the 
cause  of  the  estrangement.  The  recollection  of  Corentin 
flashed  through  her  mind,  and  with  that  the  idea  of  her 
real  destiny  rose  up  suddenly  before  her.  For  the  first 
time  since  the  morning,  she  fell  to  thinking  seriously  over 
her  position.  Hitherto  she  had  given  herself  up  to  the 
joy  of  being  loved,  without  a  thought  of  the  future  or  of 
the  past.  She  grew  unable  to  bear  her  agony  of  soul  any 
longer  alone,  and,  with  the  meek  patience  of  love,  sat 
waiting,  beseeching  one  glance  of  the  young  man.  There 
was  such  a  touching  eloquence  about  her  mute  passionate 
entreaty,  her  shudder,  and  her  white  face,  that  he  wavered 
a  moment — the  catastrophe  was  but  the  more  complete. 


The  Chouans 


4  Are  you  feeling  ill,  mademoiselle  ? '  he  inquired. 
There  was  no  trace  of  tenderness  in  his  voice.  His  look 
and  gesture,  the  very  question  itself,  all  served  to  convince 
the  poor  girl  that  all  that  had  happened  during  the  day 
had  been  part  of  a  soul-mirage,  which  was  now  dispersing 
as  half-formed  clouds  are  borne  away  by  the  wind. 

4 Am  I  feeling  ill?'  she  replied,  with  a  constrained 
laugh  :  4 1  was  just  going  to  put  the  same  question  to 
you.' 

4 1  thought  you  both  understood  each  other,'  said 
Mme.  du  Gua,  with  assumed  good  nature. 

But  neither  Mile,  de  Verneuil  nor  the  young  noble 
made  her  any  answer.  The  girl  thus  grievously  offended 
for  the  second  time  was  vexed  to  find  that  her  all-powerful 
beauty  had  lost  its  force.  She  knew  that  she  could 
discover  the  reason  of  this  state  of  things  whenever  she 
chose,  but  she  was  not  anxious  to  look  into  it ;  and  for 
the  first  time,  perhaps,  a  woman  shrank  back  from 
learning  a  secret.  There  are  in  our  lives  far  too  many 
situations  when,  either  by  dint  of  overmuch  thinking,  or 
through  some  heavy  calamity,  our  ideas  become  discon- 
nected, have  no  foundation  in  fact,  and  no  basis  to  start 
from  ;  the  links  that  bind  the  present  to  the  future  and 
to  the  past  are  severed.  This  was  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
condition.  She  bowed  her  head,  lay  back  in  the  carriage, 
and  stayed  in  this  position  like  an  uprooted  shrub.  She 
took  no  notice  of  any  one,  she  saw  nothing  around  her, 
but  suffered  in  silence,  wrapping  herself  about  in  her 
sorrow,  a  deliberate  dweller  in  the  solitary  world  whither 
unhappiness  betakes  itself  for  shelter.  Some  ravens  flew 
croaking  over  them ;  but  although  in  her,  as  in  all  strong 
natures,  there  was  a  superstitious  spot,  she  gave  no  heed 
to  them.  The  travellers  went  on  their  way  in  silence 
for  some  time. 

4  Sundered  already  ! '  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  herself. 
4  And  yet  nothing  about  me  could  have  told  him  !  Could 
it  have  been  Corentin  ?     But  it  is  not  to  Corentin's 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  137 


interest.  Who  can  have  risen  up  to  accuse  me  ?  I 
have  scarcely  been  beloved,  and  here  already  I  am 
aghast  at  being  forsaken.  I  have  sown  love,  and  I  reap 
contempt.  So  it  is  decreed  by  fate  that  I  shall  never  do 
more  than  see  the  happiness  that  I  must  always  lose  ! ' 

There  was  a  trouble  within  her  heart  that  was  new  in 
her  experience,  for  she  really  loved  now,  and  for  the  first 
time.  But  she  was  not  so  overcome  by  her  pain  that  she 
could  not  oppose  to  it  the  pride  natural  to  a  young  and 
beautiful  woman.  Her  love  was  still  her  own  secret ;  the 
secret  that  torture  often  fails  to  draw  had  not  escaped  her. 
She  raised  her  head,  ashamed  that  her  mute  suffering 
should  indicate  the  extent  of  the  passion  within  her, 
showed  a  smiling  face,  or  rather  a  smiling  mask,  gave  a 
gay  little  shake  of  the  head,  controlling  her  voice,  so  as 
to  show  no  sign  of  the  change  in  it. 

c  Where  are  we  now  ? '  she  asked  of  Captain  Merle, 
who  always  kept  at  a  little  distance  from  the  coach. 

6  Three  leagues  and  a  half  from  Fougeres,  mademoiselle.' 

4  Then  we  shall  very  soon  be  there  now,'  said  she,  to 
induce  him  to  begin  to  talk,  her  mind  being  fully  made 
up  to  favour  the  young  captain  with  some  mark  of  her 
consideration. 

6  Those  leagues,'  replied  the  delighted  Merle,  c  are  no 
great  matter,  except  that  hereabouts  they  never  let  any- 
thing come  to  an  end.  As  soon  as  you  reach  the  upland 
at  the  top  of  this  hill  that  we  are  climbing,  you  will  see 
another  valley  just  like  the  one  we  are  leaving  behind, 
and  then  on  the  horizon  you  can  see  the  top  of  La  Peler- 
ine. God  send  that  the  Chouans  will  be  so  obliging  as 
not  to  have  their  revenge  up  there.  But  as  you  can 
suppose,  we  don't  get  on  very  fast,  going  up  and  down  hill 
in  this  way.    From  La  Pelerine  again  you  will  see  ' 

The  Emigrant  trembled  slightly  at  that  word  for  the 
second  time,  but  so  slightly  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  alone 
observed  it. 

4  What  may  this  La  Pelerine  be?'  the  girl  inquired 


The  Chouans 


vivaciously,  interrupting  the  captain,  who  was  quite  taken 
up  by  his  Breton  topography. 

4  It  is  the  summit  of  a  hill,'  Merle  answered.  4  It  gives 
its  name  to  the  valley  here  in  Maine,  which  we  are  just 
going  to  enter.  The  hill  is  the  dividing  line  be- 
tween that  province  and  the  valley  of  the  Couesnon  ; 
Fougeres  lies  at  the  very  end  of  the  valley,  and  that  is  the 
first  town  you  come  to  in  Brittany.  We  had  a  fight 
there  against  the  Gars  and  his  bandits  at  the  end  of  Ven- 
demiaire.  We  were  bringing  over  some  conscripts,  and 
they  had  a  mind  to  kill  us  on  the  border  so  as  to  stop  in 
their  own  country  \  but  Hulot  is  a  tough  customer,  and 
he  gave  them  ' 

4  Then  you  must  have  seen  the  Gars  ? '  she  asked. 
4  What  sort  of  man  is  he  ? '  and  all  the  time  her  keen 
malicious  eyes  were  never  withdrawn  from  the  pretended 
Vicomte  de  Bauvan's  face. 

4  Oh,  mon  Dieu  !  mademoiselle,'  replied  Merle,  inter- 
rupted again  as  usual;  4  he  is  so  very  much  like  the  citizen 
du  Gua,  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  uniform  of  the  Ecole 
polytechnique  that  he  is  wearing,  I  would  bet  it  was 
the  same  man.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  stared  hard  at  the  cool  and  impassive 
young  man  who  was  looking  contemptuously  back  at  her, 
but  she  could  see  nothing  about  him  that  revealed  any 
feeling  of  fear.  By  a  bitter  smile  she  let  him  know  that 
she  had  just  discovered  the  secret  he  had  so  dishon- 
ourably kept.  Then  her  nostrils  dilated  with  joy ;  she 
bent  her  head  to  one  side,  so  that  she  could  scrutinise  the 
young  noble,  and  at  the  same  time  keep  Merle  in  view, 
and  said  to  the  Republican  in  a  mocking  voice — 

4  This  chief  is  giving  the  First  Consul  a  good  deal  of 
anxiety,  captain.  There  is  plenty  of  daring  in  him,  they 
say,  but  he  will  engage  in  adventures  of  certain  kinds  like 
a  hare-brained  boy,  especially  if  there  is  a  woman  in  the 
case.' 

4  We  are  just  reckoning  upon  that  to  square  our 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  139 

accounts  with  him,'  said  the  captain.  c  If  we  can  get 
hold  of  him  for  a  couple  of  hours,  we  will  put  a  little  lead 
in  those  brains  of  his.  If  he  were  to  come  across  us,  the 
fellow  from  Coblentz  would  do  as  much  for  us ;  he  would 
turn  us  off  into  the  dark,  so  it  is  tit  for  tat.'  4  Oh, 
you  have  nothing  to  fear,'  said  the  Emigrant.  c  Your 
soldiers  will  never  get  as  far  as  La  Pelerine ;  they  are  too 
tired  3  so  if  you  agree  to  it,  they  could  take  a  rest  only  a 
step  or  two  from  here.  My  mother  will  alight  at  the 
Vivetiere,  and  there  is  the  road  leading  to  it,  a  few  gun- 
shots away.  These  two  ladies  would  be  glad  to  rest  there 
too  ;  they  must  be  tired  after  coming  without  a  break  in 
the  journey  from  Alen^on  hither.'  He  turned  to  his 
mistress  with  constrained  politeness  as  he  went  on — 
4  And,  since  mademoiselle  has  been  so  generous  as  to 
make  our  journey  safe  as  well  as  pleasant,  perhaps  she  will 
condescend  to  accept  an  invitation  to  sup  with  my 
mother  ?  Times,  in  fact,  are  not  so  distracted  but  that 
a  hogshead  of  cider  can  be  found  at  the  Vivetiere  to  tap  for 
your  men.  The  Gars  will  not  have  made  off  with  every- 
thing ;  or  so  my  mother  thinks,  at  any  rate  ' 

4  Your  mother  ? '  interrupted  Mile,  de  Verneuil  satiri- 
cally, without  making  any  response  to  the  strange 
invitation  whicl>  was  held  out  to  her, 

'Does  my  age  seem  no  longer  credible  to  you  now  that 
the  evening  has  come,  mademoiselle  ? '  asked  Mme.  du 
Gua.  CI  was  unfortunately  married  while  very  young  ; 
my  son  was  born  when  I  was  fifteen  ' 

c  Are  you  not  mistaken,  madame  ?  Should  you  not 
have  said  thirty  ? ' 

Madame  du  Gua  turned  pale  as  she  swallowed  this 
piece  of  sarcasm.  She  longed  for  the  power  to  avenge 
herself,  and  yet  must  perforce  smile.  At  all  costs  to  her- 
self, even  by  the  endurance  of  the  most  stinging  epigrams, 
she  wished  to  discover  the  girl's  motives  of  action,  so  she 
pretended  not  to  have  understood. 

4  The  Chouans  have  never  had  a  leader  so  cruel  as  this 


The  Chouans 


one,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  rumours  that  are  flying 
about  concerning  him,'  she  said,  speaking  at  the  same 
time  to  Francine  and  Francine's  mistress. 

c  Oh  !  I  do  not  believe  he  is  cruel,'  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  answered,  c  but  he  can  lie,  and  to  me  he  seems 
exceedingly  credulous  ;  the  leader  of  a  party  ought  to  be 
the  dupe  of  no  one.' 

c  Do  you  know  him  ?  *  asked  the  Emigrant  coolly. 

cNo'  she  answered,  with  a  contemptuous  glance  at 
him,  c  but  I  thought  I  knew  him.' 

c  Oh,  mademoiselle,  he  is  a  shrewd  one,  and  no  mis- 
take ! '  said  the  captain,  shaking  his  head  and  giving  to 
the  word  he  used  [matin)  by  an  eloquent  gesture  the 
peculiar  shade  of  meaning  which  it  then  possessed,  and 
has  since  lost.  c  These  old  families  sometimes  send  out 
vigorous  offshoots.  They  come  over  here  from  a  country 
where  the  ci-devant$y  so  they  say,  have  by  no  means  an 
easy  time  of  it ;  and  men  are  like  medlars,  you  know— 
they  ripen  best  on  straw.  If  the  fellow  has  a  head  on  his 
shoulders,  he  can  lead  us  a  dance  for  a  long  while  yet. 
He  thoroughly  understood  how  to  oppose  his  irregular 
troops  to  our  free  companies,  and  so  paralyse  the  efforts 
of  the  Government.  For  every  Royalist  village  that  is 
burnt  he  burns  two  for  the  Republicans.  He  has  spread 
his  operations  over  a  vast  tract  of  country,  and  in  that 
way  he  compels  us  to  bring  a  considerable  number  of 
troops  into  the  field,  and  that  at  a  time  when  we  have 
none  to  spare  !    Oh,  he  understands  his  business  ! ' 

c  He  is  murdering  his  own  country,'  said  Gerard, 
interrupting  the  captain  with  his  powerful  voice. 

4  But  if  his  death  is  to  deliver  the  country,'  said  the 
young  gentleman, c  shoot  him  down,  and  be  quick  about  it.' 

Then  he  tried  to  fathom  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  mind  with 
a  glance ;  and  of  the  dramatic  vivacity  of  the  mute  scene 
that  passed  between  them,  and  its  subtle  swiftness,  words 
can  give  but  a  very  imperfect  idea.  Danger  makes 
people   interesting.     The  vilest  criminal  excites  some 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


141 


measure  of  pity  when  it  comes  to  be  a  question  of  his 
death.  So  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  being  by  this  time  quite 
certain  that  the  lover  who  had  scorned  her  was  the  for- 
midable rebel  leader,  did  not  seek  to  reassure  herself  on 
this  head  by  keeping  him  on  the  rack ;  she  had  a  quite 
different  curiosity  to  satisfy.  She  preferred  to  trust  or  to 
doubt  him,  as  her  passion  dictated,  and  set  herself  to  play 
with  edged  tools.  She  indicated  the  soldiers  to  the  young 
chieftain  in  a  glance  full  of  treacherous  derision  ;  dangling 
the  idea  of  his  danger  before  him,  amusing  herself  with 
making  him  pajnfully  aware  that  his  life  hung  on  a  word 
which  her  lips  seemed  to  be  opening  to  pronounce.  She 
seemed,  like  an  American  Indian,  to  be  ready  to  detect 
the  movement  of  any  nerve  in  the  face  of  an  enemy 
bound  to  the  stake,  flourishing  her  tomahawk  with  a  cer- 
tain grace  ;  enjoying  a  revenge  unstained  by  crime,  dealing 
out  to  him  his  punishment  like  a  mistress  who  has  not 
ceased  to  love. 

1  If  I  had  a  son  like  yours,  madam,'  she  said  to 
the  visibly  terrified  stranger,  (I  should  put  on  mourn- 
ing for  him  on  the  day  when  I  sent  him  forth  into 
danger.' 

She  received  no  reply.  Again  and  again  she  turned 
her  head  towards  the  two  officers,  and  then  looked  sharply 
at  Mme.  du  Gua  ;  but  she  could  not  detect  that  there 
was  any  secret  signal  passing  between  the  lady  and  the 
Gars,  such  as  could  assure  her  of  an  intimacy  which  she 
suspected,  and  yet  wished  not  to  credit.  A  woman  likes 
so  much  to  maintain  the  suspense  of  a  life-and-death 
struggle  when  a  word  from  her  will  decide  the  issue. 
The  young  general  bore  the  torture  which  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  inflicted  upon  him  without  flinching,  and  with 
smiling  serenity ;  the  expression  of  his  face  and  his 
bearing  altogether  showed  that  he  was  a  man  utterly 
unaffected  by  the  perils  he  underwent,  and  now  and  then 
he  seemed  to  tell  her,  c  Here  is  your  opportunity  for 
avenging   your  wounded  vanity !    Seize  upon  it  !  I 


I42 


The  Chouans 


should  be  in  despair  if  I  had  to  resign  the  feeling  of  con- 
tempt which  I  have  for  you.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  began  to  scrutinise  the  chief  from 
her  position  of  vantage,  with  a  haughty  insolence,  which 
was  quite  superficial,  for  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
she  was  admiring  his  tranquil  courage.  Glad  as  she  was 
to  make  the  discovery  of  the  ancient  name  that  her 
lover  bore  (for  all  women  love  the  privileges  which  a 
title  confers),  she  was  still  further  delighted  to  confront 
him  in  his  present  position.  He  was  the  champion  of  a 
cause  ennobled  by  its  misfortunes  \  he  was  exerting  every 
faculty  of  a  powerful  character  in  a  struggle  with  a 
Republic  that  had  been  so  many  a  time  victorious.  She 
saw  him  now,  face  to  face  with  imminent  danger,  dis- 
playing the  dauntless  valour  that  has  such  a  powerful 
effect  on  women's  hearts.  Over  and  over  again  she  put 
him  through  the  ordeal,  perhaps  in  obedience  to  an 
instinct  which  leads  womankind  to  play  with  a  victim, 
as  a  cat  plays  with  the  mouse  that  she  has  caught. 

4  What  law  is  your  authority  for  putting  Chouans  to 
death  ? '  she  asked  of  Captain  Merle. 

(  The  law  of  the  fourteenth  of  last  Fructidor.  The 
revolted  departments  are  put  outside  the  civil  jurisdiction, 
and  court-martials  are  established  instead,'  replied  the  j 
Republican. 

c  To  what  cause  do  I  owe  the  honour  of  your  scrutiny  J 
of  me  ? '  she  inquired  of  the  young  chief,  who  was  watch- 
ing her  attentively. 

c  To  a  feeling  which  a  gentleman  hardly  knows  how 
to  express  in  speaking  to  a  woman,  whatever  she  may  be,' 
said  the  Marquis  of  Montauran  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
leant  over  towards  her;  then  he  went  on  aloud,  6  We 
must  needs  live  in  such  times  as  these,  to  see  girls  in 
your  station  do  the  office  of  the  executioner,  and  improve 
upon  him  in  their  deft  way  of  playing  with  the  axe  ' 

Her  eyes  were  set  in  a  stare  on  Montauran  ;  then  in 
her  exultation  at  receiving  this  insult  from  a  man  whose 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


life  lay  between  her  hands  as  he  spoke,  she  whispered  in 
his  ear  with  gentle  malice  as  she  laughed — 

4  Your  head  is  so  wrong  that  the  executioners  will 
none  of  it.    I  shall  keep  it  for  my  own.' 

The  bewildered  marquis  in  his  turn  gazed  at  this 
unaccountable  girl  for  a  moment.  The  love  in  her  had 
prevailed  over  everything  else,  even  over  the  most 
scathing  insults,  and  her  revenge  had  taken  the  form  of 
pardoning  an  offence  which  women  never  forgive.  The 
expression  of  his  eyes  grew  less  cold  and  hard,  a  touch  of 
melancholy  stole  over  his  features.  His  passion  had  a 
stronger  hold  upon  him  than  he  had  recognised.  These 
faint  tokens  of  the  reconciliation  she  looked  for  satisfied 
Mile,  de  Verneuil.  She  looked  tenderly  at  the  chief; 
the  smile  she  gave  him  seemed  a  caress  ;  then  she  lay 
back  in  the  coach,  unwilling  to  endanger  the  future  in 
the  drama  of  her  happiness,  and  in  full  belief  that  that 
smile  of  hers  had  once  more  tightened  the  knot  that 
bound  them.  She  was  so  beautiful  !  She  knew  so  well 
how  to  clear  away  all  obstacles  in  love's  course  !  She 
was  so  thoroughly  accustomed  to  take  all  things  as  a 
pastime,  to  live  as  chance  determined  !  She  had  such  a 
love  of  the  unforeseen  and  of  the  storms  of  life  ! 

Very  soon,  in  obedience  to  orders  from  the  marquis, 
the  coach  left  the  high  road  and  turned  off  towards  the 
Vivetiere,  along  a  cross-road  in  a  hollow  shut  in  on  either 
side  by  high  banks,  planted  with  apple  trees,  which  made 
their  way  seem  more  of  a  ditch  than  a  road,  properly 
speaking.  The  travellers  gradually  left  the  Blues  behind 
them,  as  they  reached  the  manor  house  >  its  grey  roofs 
appearing  and  vanishing  alternately  through  the  trees 
along  the  way.  Several  soldiers  were  left  behind,  engaged 
in  extricating  their  shoes  from  the  stiff  clay.  c  This  is 
like  the  road  to  Paradise  with  a  vengeance,'  cried  Beau- 
Pied. 

Thanks  to  the  postilion,  who  had  been  there  before,  it 
was  not  very  long  before  Mile,  de  Verneuil  came  in 


144 


The  Chouans 


sight  of  the  chateau  of  the  Vivetiere.  The  house  lay  on 
the  slope  of  a  sort  of  promontory  between  two  deep  ponds 
which  almost  surrounded  it,  so  that  it  was  only  possible 
to  reach  the  mansion  by  following  one  narrow  causeway. 
That  part  of  the  peninsula  on  which  the  house  and 
gardens  stood  was  protected  at  some  distance  from  the 
back  of  the  chateau  by  a  wide  moat  which  received  all 
the  overflow  from  the  two  ponds  with  which  it  communi- 
cated. In  this  way  an  island  was  formed,  which  was 
an  almost  impregnable  retreat,  and  therefore  invaluable 
for  a  party  leader,  who  could  only  be  surprised  here  by 
treachery. 

As  the  gate  creaked  on  its  rusty  hinges,  and  she  passed 
under  the  pointed  archway  that  had  been  ruined  in  the 
previous  war,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  stretched  out  her  head. 
The  gloomy  colours  of  the  picture  presented  to  her  gaze 
all  but  effaced  the  thoughts  of  love  and  coquetry  with 
which  she  had  been  soothing  herself.  The  coach 
entered  a  great  courtyard,  almost  square  in  shape,  and 
bounded  by  the  steep  banks  of  the  ponds.  These  rough 
embankments  were  kept  dank  by  the  water  with  its 
great  patches  of  green  weed,  and  bore  such  trees  as  love 
marshy  places,  for  their  sole  adornment.  They  stood 
leafless  now.  The  stunted  trunks  and  huge  heads  grey 
with  lichens  rose  above  the  reeds  and  undergrowth  like 
misshapen  dwarfs.  These  uncomely  hedges  seemed  to 
have  a  sort  of  life  in  them,  and  to  find  a  language  when 
the  frogs  escaped  from  them,  croaking  as  they  went ;  and 
the  water-hens,  in  alarm  at  the  sounds  made  by  the  coach, 
flew  and  splashed  across  the  surface  of  the  pools.  The 
courtyard,  surrounded  by  tall  withered  grasses,  gorse, 
dwarf  shrubs  and  creeping  plants,  put  an  end  to  any  pre- 
conceived ideas  of  order  or  of  splendour. 

The  chateau  itself  seemed  to  have  been  a  long  while 
deserted.  The  roofs  appeared  to  bend  under  an  accumula- 
tion of  vegetable  growths  ;  and  although  the  walls  were 
built  very  solidly  of  the  schistous  stone  of  the  district, 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  145 

there  were  numerous  cracks  where  the  ivy  had  found  a 
hold.  The  chateau  fronted  the  pond,  and  consisted  of 
two  wings  which  met  at  right  angles  in  a  high  tower,  and 
that  was  all.  The  doors  and  shutters  hung  loose  and 
rotten  ;  the  balustrades  were  eaten  with  rust ;  and  these, 
like  the  crazy  windows,  looked  as  if  the  first  breath  of 
a  storm  would  bring  them  down.  A  shrewd  wind 
whistled  through  the  ruinous  place,  and  in  the  uncertain 
moonlight  the  great  house  had  a  spectral  appearance  and 
character.  The  cold  greys  and  blues  of  the  granitic 
stone,  combined  with  the  tawny  brown  and  black  of  the 
schist,  must  have  been  actually  seen,  before  the  accuracy 
of  the  image  called  up  at  first  sight  by  this  dark  empty 
carcase  of  a  house  can  be  appreciated.  It  looked  exactly 
like  a  skeleton  with  the  fissures  in  its  masonry,  its 
unglazed  windows,  the  embrasures  in  the  battlements  of 
the  tower  seen  against  the  sky,  and  the  roofs  that  let  the 
light  through  ;  the  birds  of  prey  that  flew  shrieking  about 
it  added  one  more  feature  to  the  vague  resemblance.  A 
few  lofty  fir-trees  behind  the  house  showed  their  dark 
waving  foliage  above  the  roofs,  and  some  yew  trees  that 
had  once  been  trimmed  as  a  sort  of  ornament  to  the 
corners,  now  made  for  it  a  setting  of  dismal  festoons  like 
palls  at  a  funeral. 

The  shape  of  the  doorways,  the  clumsiness  of  the 
ornaments,  the  want  of  symmetry  in  the  construction, 
and  everything,  in  fact,  about  the  mansion,  showed  that  it 
was  one  of  those  feudal  manor-houses  of  which  Brittany  is 
proud  ;  not  without  reason  it  may  be,  for  in  this  Celtic 
land  they  form  monuments  to  the  nebulous  history  of  a 
time  when  as  yet  the  monarchy  was  not  established. 
In  Mile,  de  VerneuiPs  imagination  the  word  c  chateau* 
always  called  up  a  conventional  type,  so  that  she  was 
greatly  struck  with  the  funeral  aspect  of  the  picture 
before  her.  She  sprang  lightly  from  the  coach,  and  stood 
by  herself  looking  about  her  in  dismay,  and  meditating 
on  the  part  that  she  ought  to  play. 

K 


146 


The  Chouans 


Francine  heard  Mine,  du  Gua  give  a  sigh  of  joy  when 
she  found  herself  free  of  the  escort  of  Blues;  and  an 
involuntary  exclamation  broke  from  her  when  the  gate 
was  shut,  and  she  found  herself  within  this  kind  of 
natural  fortress.  Montauran  had  hurried  eagerly  to 
Mile,  de  Verneuil ;  he  guessed  the  nature  of  the  thoughts 
that  filled  her  mind. 

4  This  chateau,'  he  said,  with  a  shade  of  melancholy 
in  his  voice,  c  was  ruined  in  the  war,  just  as  the  plans 
which  I  projected  for  our  happiness  have  been  ruined  by 
you.' 

4  And  in  what  way  ? '  she  inquired  in  utter  astonishment. 

4  Are  you,  a  beautiful  young  woman,  witty ,  and  nobly 
born  ? '  he  said  in  caustic  tones,  repeating  for  her  the 
words  which  she  had  spoken  so  coquettishly  during  their 
conversation  by  the  way. 

4  Who  has  told  you  otherwise  ? ' 

4  Friends  of  mine,  worthy  of  credence,  who  are  deeply 
interested  in  my  safety,  and  are  on  the  watch  to  baffle 
treachery.' 

4  Treachery  ! '  said  she,  with  a  satirical  look.  4  Are 
Alen^on  and  Hulot  so  far  away  already  ?  You  have  a 
poor  memory,  a  perilous  defect  in  the  leader  of  a 
party  !  But  if  friends  begin  to  exert  so  powerful  a  sway 
over  your  heart,'  she  went  on  with  matchless  insolence, 
4  pray  keep  your  friends.  There  is  nothing  which  can 
be  compared  with  the  pleasures  of  friendship.  Farewell ! 
for  neither  I  nor  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic  will  enter 
here  ! ' 

She  darted  towards  the  gateway  in  her  wounded  pride 
and  scorn,  but  there  was  a  dignity  and  a  desperation  about 
her  flight  that  wrought  a  change  in  the  ideas  of  the 
marquis  concerning  her.  He  could  not  but  be  imprudent 
and  credulous,  for  he  could  only  forego  his  desires  at  too 
great  a  cost  to  himself.  He,  also,  was  already  in  love, 
so  that  neither  of  the  lovers  had  any  wish  to  protract  their 
quarrel. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  147 

*  Only  a  word,  and  I  believe  you,'  he  said,  with  entreaty 
in  his  voice. 

c  A  word  ? '  she  answered  in  an  ironical  tone,  c  not  so 
much  as  a  gesture,'  and  her  lips  were  tightly  strained 
together. 

4  Scold  me  at  any  rate,'  he  entreated,  trying  to  take  the 
hand  which  she  withdrew,  c  if,  indeed,  you  dare  to  pout 
with  a  rebel  chieftain,  who  is  now  as  sullen  and  suspicious 
as  he  was  formerly  light-hearted  and  confiding.' 

There  was  no  anger  in  Marie's  look,  so  the  marquis 
went  on,  c  You  have  my  secret,  and  I  have  not  yours.' 

A  darker  shade  seemed  to  cross  her  alabaster  brow  at 
the  words.  Marie  looked  angrily  at  the  chief  and  replied, 
( My  secret  ?    Never  ! ' 

—  Every  word,  every  glance,  has  at  the  moment  its  own 
eloquence,  in  love ;  but  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  words  had 
conveyed  no  definite  meaning,  and  for  Montauran,  clever 
as  he  might  be,  the  significance  of  her  exclamation 
remained  undecipherable.  And  yet  her  woman's  voice 
had  betrayed  an  emotion  by  no  means  ordinary,  which  was 
still  in  evidence  to  excite  his  curiosity. 

*  You  have  a  pleasant  way  of  dispelling  suspicions,'  he 
began. 

c  So  you  still  harbour  them  ? '  she  inquired,  and  her 
eyes  scanned  him  curiously  as  if  to  say,  c  Have  you  any 
rights  over  me  ? ' 

'  Mademoiselle,'  said  the  young  man,  who  looked  at 
once  submissive  and  resolute,  c  the  authority  you  exercise 
over  the  Republican  troops,  and  this  escort  ' 

c  Ah,  that  reminds  me  ?  Are  we,  my  escort  and  I  (your 
protectors  as  a  matter  of  fact),  in  security  here  ? '  she  asked 
with  a  trace  of  irony. 

6  Yes,  on  my  faith  as  a  gentleman  !  Whoever  you 
may  be,  you  and  yours  have  nothing  to  fear  in  my 
house.' 

The  impulse  that  prompted  this  pledge  was  evidently 
so  generous  and  so  staunch  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not 


The  Chouans 


but  feel  absolutely  at  rest  as  to  the  fate  of  the  Republicans. 
She  was  about  to  speak,  when  Mme.  du  Gua's  presence 
imposed  silence  upon  her.  Mme.  du  Gua  had  either 
overheard  the  conversation  of  the  two  lovers,  or  she  had 
partly  guessed  at  it,  and  it  was  in  consequence  no  ordinary 
anxiety  that  she  felt  when  she  saw  them  in  a  position 
which  no  longer  implied  the  slightest  unfriendliness.  At 
sight  of  her,  the  Marquis  offered  his  hand  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  and  went  quickly  towards  the  house,  as  if  to  rid 
himself  of  an  intrusive  companion. 

( I  am  in  the  way,'  said  the  stranger  lady  to  herself, 
without  moving  from  the  place  where  she  stood.  She 
watched  the  two  reconciled  lovers,  moving  slowly  now, 
on  their  way  to  the  entrance  flight  of  steps,  where  they 
came  to  a  stand  that  they  might  talk,  so  soon  as  they 
had  put  a  distance  between  themselves  and  her. 

c  Yes,  yes,  I  am  in  their  way  ! '  she  went  on,  speaking 
to  herself ;  6  but  in  a  little  while  the  creature  yonder  will 
not  be  in  my  way  any  longer ;  the  pond,  pardteu !  shall  be 
her  grave.  I  shall  not  violate  your  "faith  as  a  gentleman." 
Once  under  that  water,  what  is  there  to  fear  ?  Will  she 
not  be  safe,  down  below  there  ? 9 

She  was  staring  at  the  calm  mirror-like  surface  of  the 
little  lake  to  the  right  of  the  courtyard,  when  she  heard 
a  rustling  sound  among  the  briars  on  the  embankment, 
and  by  the  light  of  the  moon  she  saw  Marche-a-Terre*s 
face  rise  up  above  the  knotty  trunk  of  an  old  willow-tree. 
One  had  to  know  the  Chouan  well  to  make  him  out 
among  the  confusion  of  pollard  trunks,  for  one  of  which 
he  might  readily  be  taken.  First  of  all,  Mme.  du  Gua 
looked  suspiciously  round  about  her.  She  saw  the  postilion 
leading  the  horses  round  into  a  stable,  situated  in  that 
wing  of  the  chateau  which  fronted  the  bank  where 
Marche-a-Terre  was  hiding ;  she  watched  Francine  go 
towards  the  two  lovers,  who  had  forgotten  everything  else 
on  earth  just  then ;  and  she  came  forward  with  a  finger 
on  her  lips  to  enjoin   absolute  silence,  so  that  the 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  149 


Chouan  rather  understood  than  heard  the  words  that 
followed  next,  c  How  many  are  there  of  you  here  ?  * 
*  Eighty-seven.' 

c  They  are  only  sixty-five,  for  I  counted  them/ 

c  Good,'  the  savage  answered  with  cruel  satisfaction. 
Heedful  of  Francine's  slightest  movement,  the  Chouan 
vanished  into  the  hollow  willow  trunk,  as  he  saw  her 
return  to  keep  a  look-out  for  the  woman  whom  her 
instinct  told  her  to  watch  as  an  enemy. 

Seven  or  eight  people  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  steps, 
brought  out  by  the  sounds  of  the  arrival  of  the  coach. 

'  It  is  the  Gars ! '  they  exclaimed.    1 It  is  he ;  here  he  is ! ' 

Others  came  running  up  at  their  exclamations,  and 
the  talk  between  the  two  lovers  was  interrupted  by  their 
presence.  The  Marquis  of  Montauran  made  a  rush 
towards  these  gentlemen,  called  for  silence  with  an 
imperative  gesture,  and  made  them  look  at  the  top  of  the 
avenue  through  which  the  Republican  soldiers  were 
defiling.  At  the  sight  of  the  familiar  blue  uniform 
turned  up  with  red,  and  the  gleaming  bayonets,  the 
astonished  conspirators  exclaimed — 

c  Can  you  have  come  back  to  betray  us  ? 9 

4 1  should  not  warn  you  of  the  peril  if  I  had,'  said  the 
marquis,  smiling  bitterly.  i  Those  Blues,'  he  went  on 
after  a  pause,  c  are  this  young  lady's  escort.  Her  genero- 
sity rescued  us,  by  a  miracle,  from  a  danger  which  all  but 
overwhelmed  us  in  an  inn  in  Alencon.  We  will  give  you 
the  history  of  the  adventure.  Mademoiselle  and  her 
escort  are  here  on  my  parole,  and  must  be  welcomed  as 
friends.' 

Mme.  du  Gua  and  Francine  having  come  as  far  as  the 
flight  of  steps,  the  marquis  gallantly  presented  his  hand 
to  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  the  group  of  gentlemen  fell  back 
into  two  rows  in  order  to  let  them  pass,  and  every  one 
tried  to  discern  the  features  of  the  new-comer ;  for  Mme. 
du  Gua  had  already  stimulated  their  curiosity  by  making 
several  furtive  signs  to  them. 


1 5o 


The  Chouans 


In  the  first  room  Mile,  de  Verneuil  saw  a  large  table 
handsomely  furnished  and  set  for  a  score  of  guests.  The 
dining-room  opened  into  a  vast  saloon,  where  the  company 
were  very  soon  assembled  together.  Both  apartments 
were  in  keeping  with  the  appearance  of  dilapidation  about 
the  exterior  of  the  chateau.  The  wainscot  was  ol 
polished  walnut,  ill  carved  with  poor  and  rough  designs 
in  bold  relief;  but  it  was  split  by  great  cracks,  and  seemed 
ready  to  fall  to  pieces.  The  dark  colour  of  the  wood 
seemed  to  make  the  mirrorless  and  curtainless  rooms  more 
dismal  yet ;  and  the  antiquated  and  crazy  furniture 
matched  the  ruinous  aspect  of  everything  else.  Marie 
noticed  maps  and  plans  lying  out  unrolled  upon  a  great 
table,  and  a  stack  of  weapons  and  rifles  in  a  corner  of 
the  room.  Everything  spoke  of  an  important  conference 
among  the  Vendean  and  Chouan  chiefs.  The  marquis 
led  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  an  enormous  worm-eaten  arm- 
chair which  stood  beside  the  hearth,  and  Francine  took 
up  her  position  behind  her  mistress,  leaning  upon  the 
back  of  the  venerable  piece  of  furniture. 

c  You  will  give  me  leave  to  do  my  duty  as  host  for  a 
moment?'  said  the  marquis,  as  he  left  the  two  new-comers 
to  mingle  with  the  groups  his  guests  had  formed. 

Francine  saw  how  at  a  word  or  two  from  Montauran, 
the  chiefs  hastily  concealed  their  weapons  and  maps  and 
anything  else  which  could  arouse  the  suspicions  of  the 
Republican  officers.  One  or  two  of  the  chiefs  divested 
themselves  of  wide  leather  belts,  furnished  with  hunting- 
knives  and  pistols.  The  marquis  recommended  the 
greatest  discretion,  and  left  the  room,  apologising  for  the 
absence  necessary  to  provide  for  the  reception  of  the 
inconvenient  guests  which  chance  had  thrust  upon  him. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  was  trying  to  warm  her  feet  at 
the  fire,  had  allowed  Montauran  to  leave  her,  without 
turning  her  head ;  and  thus  disappointed  the  expectations 
of  the  onlookers,  who  all  were  anxious  to  see  her  face. 
Francine  was  the  sole  witness  of  the  change  wrought 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  1 5 1 

among  those  assembled  by  the  young  chief's  departure. 
The  gentlemen  gathered  round  the  stranger  lady,  and 
during  the  murmured  conversation  which  was  carried  on 
among  them,  there  was  no  one  present  who  did  not  look 
again  and  again  at  the  two  strangers. 

c  You  know  Montauran  ! '  she  said.  ( He  fell  in  love 
with  this  girl  at  first  sight,  and  you  can  easily  understand 
that  the  soundest  advice  was  suspicious  to  him  when  it 
came  from  my  mouth.  Our  friends  in  Paris,  and 
Messieurs  de  Valois  and  d'Esgrignon  at  Alen^on,  one 
and  all  warned  him  of  the  trap  they  want  to  set  for  him, 
by  flinging  some  hussy  at  his  head,  and  he  is  bewitched 
with  the  first  one  he  comes  across ;  a  girl  who,  if  all  I 
can  learn  about  her  is  correct,  has  taken  a  noble  name, 
only  to  tarnish  it,  who  '  and  so  on,  and  so  on. 

This  lady,  in  whom  the  woman  that  decided  the  attack 
on  the  turgotine  can  be  recognised,  will  keep  throughout 
this  story  the  name  which  enabled  her  to  escape  in  the 
perils  of  her  journey  through  Alen^on.  The  publication 
of  her  real  name  could  only  displease  a  noble  family,  who 
have  suffered  deeply  already  from  the  errors  of  this  young 
person,  whose  fortunes  have,  moreover,  been  taken  for  the 
subject  of  another  drama. 

Very  soon  the  attitude  of  the  company  changed,  and 
simple  curiosity  grew  to  be  impertinent,  and  almost  hostile. 
Two  or  three  rather  harsh  epithets  reached  Francine's 
ears,  who  spoke  a  word  to  her  mistress,  and  took  refuge  in 
the  embrasure  of  a  window.  Marie  rose,  and  turned  her 
glances  filled  with  dignity,  and  even  with  scorn,  upon  the 
insolent  group.  Her  beauty,  and  her  pride  and  the 
refinement  of  her  manner,  worked  a  sudden  change  in  the 
attitude  of  her  enemies,  and  called  forth  an  involuntary 
flattering  murmur  from  them.  Two  or  three  men  among 
them,  whose  exterior  polish  and  habits  of  gallantry 
revealed  that  they  had  been  acquired  in  the  lofty  spheres 
of  courts,  came  up  to  Marie  in  a  free  and  easy  manner;  her 
modest  reserve  compelled  their  respect,  none  of  them 


i$2  The  Chouans 

dared  to  address  a  word  to  her,  and,  so  far  from  being 
accused  by  them,  it  was  she  who  seemed  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment upon  them. 

The  chiefs  in  this  war  undertaken  for  God  and  the 
King  bore  very  little  resemblance  to  the  fancy  portraits 
which  she  had  been  pleased  to  draw  of  them.  The  real 
grandeur  of  the  struggle  was  diminished  for  her  ;  it  shrank 
into  mean  dimensions  when  she  saw  (two  or  three 
energetic  faces  excepted)  the  country  gentlemen  about 
her,  every  one  of  them  entirely  devoid  of  character  and 
vigour.  Marie  came  down  all  at  once  from  poetry  to 
prose.  At  first  sight  these  faces  seemed  to  manifest  a 
craving  for  intrigue  rather  than  a  love  of  glory ;  it  was 
really  self-interest  that  had  set  each  man's  hand  to  his 
sword ;  so  if  they  grew  heroic  figures  in  the  field,  here 
they  appeared  as  they  actually  were.  The  loss  of  her 
illusions  made  Mile,  de  Verneuil  unjust,  and  prevented 
her  from  recognising  the  real  devotion  that  distinguished 
several  of  these  men.  But  most  of  them,  for  all  that, 
were  of  a  commonplace  turn.  If  a  few  faces  among  them 
were  marked  out  by  a  character  of  their  own,  it  was 
spoiled  by  a  certain  pettiness  due  to  aristocratic  etiquette 
and  convention.  So  if  Marie's  generosity  allowed  them 
to  be  astute  and  shrewd,  she  found  no  trace  among  them  of 
the  simpler  and  larger  way  of  looking  at  things,  which  the 
men  and  the  successes  of  the  Republic  had  always  led  her 
to  expect. 

This  nocturnal  confabulation  in  the  old  ruined  strong- 
hold, beneath  the  quaintly-carved  beams  that  were  no 
ill  match  for  the  faces  below,  made  her  smile ;  she  was 
inclined  to  see  it  all  as  a  typical  presentment  of  the  mon- 
archy. Then  she  thought  with  delight  that  at  any  rate 
the  marquis  took  the  first  place  among  these  men,  whose 
sole  merit  in  her  eyes  lay  in  their  devotion  to  a  lost 
cause.  She  drew  the  outlines  of  her  lover's  face  upon  that 
background  of  figures,  and  pleased  herself  with  the  way  in 
which  he  stood  out  against  it ;  all  these  meagre  and  thin 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


*53 


personalities  were  but  tools  in  his  hands,  wherewith  to 
carry  out  his  own  noble  purposes. 

Just  then  the  returning  footsteps  of  the  marquis  sounded 
from  the  next  room ;  the  conspirators  broke  up  into 
knots  at  once,  and  there  was  an  end  to  the  whisperings. 
They  looked  like  school-boys  who  have  been  up  to  some 
mischief  in  their  master's  absence,  hurriedly  restoring  an 
appearance  of  order  and  silence.  Montauran  came  in. 
The  happiness  of  admiring  him,  of  seeing  him  take  the 
first  place  among  these  folk,  the  youngest  and  handsomest 
man  among  them,  fell  to  Marie.  He  went  from  group 
to  group,  like  a  king  among  his  courtiers,  distributing 
slight  nods,  handshakes,  glances,  and  words  that  indicated 
a  good  understanding  or  a  tinge  of  reproach  ;  playing  his 
part  as  a  partisan  leader  with  a  grace  and  self-possession 
which  could  hardly  have  been  looked  for  in  a  young  man 
whom  she  had  set  down  at  first  as  a  feather-brain.  The 
presence  of  the  marquis  had  put  a  stop  to  their  inquisitive 
demonstrations  with  regard  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  but 
Mme.  du  Gua's  spitefulness  soon  showed  its  effects.  The 
Baron  du  Guenic,  nicknamed  Vlntime\  who,  among  all 
these  men  thus  brought  together  by  weighty  considera- 
tions, seemed  best  entitled  by  his  name  and  rank  to  speak 
on  familiar  terms  with  Montauran,  laid  a  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  drew  him  into  a  corner. 

c  Listen,  my  dear  marquis,'  he  said  ;  '  we  are  all  sorry 
to  see  you  about  to  commit  a  flagrant  piece  of  folly.' 

1  What  do  you  mean  by  that  remark  ?  ' 

4  Who  can  tell  where  this  girl  comes  from,  what  she 
really  is,  and  what  her  designs  upon  you  may  be  ?  ' 

6  Between  ourselves,  my  dear  l'Intime,  my  fancy  will 
have  passed  off  by  to-morrow  morning/ 

c  Just  so  ;  but  how  if  the  gipsy  betrays  you  before  the 
morning  ? ' 

c  I  will  answer  you  that  when  you  tell  me  why  she  has 
not  already  done  so,'  answered  Montauran  jestingly, 
assuming  an  air  of  exceeding  self-complacency. 


*54 


The  Chouans 


i  If  she  has  taken  a  liking  to  you,  she  would  have  no 
mind  perhaps  to  betray  you  till  her  "fancy"  too  had 
"  passed  off."  .  .  .' 

c  Just  take  a  look  at  that  charming  girl,  my  dear  fellow  ; 
notice  her  manners,  and  dare  to  tell  me  that  she  is  not  a 
woman  of  good  birth  !  If  she  sent  a  favourable  glance  in 
your  direction,  would  you  not  feel,  in  the  depths  of  you, 
some  sort  of  respect  for  her  ?  A  certain  lady  has  preju- 
diced you  against  her,  but  after  what  we  have  just  said  to 
each  other,  if  she  was  one  of  those  abandoned  women  that 
our  friends  have  spoken  about,  I  would  kill  her.' 

c  You  do  not  suppose  that  Fouche  would  be  fool  enough 
to  pick  up  a  girl  from  a  street  corner  to  send  after  you  ? 1 
Mme.  du  Gua  broke  in.  c  He  has  sent  some  one  likely 
to  attract  a  man  of  your  calibre.  But  if  you  are  blind, 
your  friends  will  have  their  eyes  open  to  watch  over  you.' 

c  Madame,'  answered  the  Gars,  darting  angry  glances 
at  her,  c  take  care  to  make  no  attempt  against  this  person 
or  her  escort,  or  nothing  shall  save  you  from  my  ven- 
geance. It  is  my  wish  that  mademoiselle  should  be 
treated  with  the  greatest  respect,  and  as  a  woman  who  is 
under  my  protection.  We  are  connected,  I  believe,  with 
the  family  of  Verneuil.' 

The  opposition  which  the  marquis  encountered  pro- 
duced the  effects  that  hindrances  of  this  sort  usually 
cause  in  young  people.  Lightly  as  he  apparently  held 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  when  he  gave  the  impression  that  his 
infatuation  for  her  was  only  a  whim,  his  feeling  of  personal 
pride  had  forced  him  to  take  a  considerable  step.  By 
openly  acknowledging  her,  it  became  a  question  of  his 
own  honour  to  make  others  respect  her,  so  he  went  from 
group  to  group  assuring  every  one  that  the  stranger  really 
was  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  with  the  air  of  a  man  whom  it 
would  be  dangerous  to  contradict ;  and  all  the  murmurs 
were  silenced. 

As  soon  as  harmony  was  in  some  sort  re-established  in 
the  salon,  and  his  duties  as  host  detained  him  no  longer, 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


155 


Montauran  went  eagerly  up  to  his  mistress,  and  said  in  a 
low  voice, 'Those  people  yonder  have  robbed  me  of  a 
moment  of  happiness.' 

c  I  am  very  glad  to  have  you  beside  me,'  she  answered, 
smiling.  *  I  give  you  fair  warning  ;  I  am  inquisitive,  so 
do  not  grow  tired  of  my  questions  too  soon.  First  of  all, 
tell  me  who  that  worthy  person  is  in  the  green  waistcoat.* 

i  He  is  the  celebrated  Major  Brigaut  from  the  Marais, 
a  comrade  of  the  late  Mercier's,  otherwise  called 
Vendee.' 

'And  who  is  the  stout  churchman  with  the  florid 
countenance,  with  whom  he  is  now  discussing  me?' 
went  on  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

c  Do  you  want  to  know  what  they  are  saying  about 
you  ? ' 

c  Do  I  want  to  know  ?  .  .  .  Can  you  doubt  it  ? ' 

c  But  I  could  not  tell  you  without  insulting  you.' 

1  The  moment  that  you  allow  me  to  be  insulted  without 
wreaking  vengeance  for  any  affront  put  upon  me  in  your 
house,  I  bid  you  farewell,  marquis.  Not  a  moment 
longer  will  I  stay.  I  have  felt  some  pangs  of  conscience 
already  at  deceiving  those  poor  trusting  and  trusty 
Republicans.'  She  took  several  paces,  but  the  marquis 
went  after  her. 

(  My  dear  Marie,  hear  me.  Upon  my  honour,  I  have 
silenced  their  scandalous  talk  before  I  know  whether  it  is 
false  or  true.  But  our  friends  among  the  ministers  in 
Paris  have  sent  warning  to  me  to  mistrust  every  sort  of 
woman  that  comes  in  my  way  ;  telling  me  that  Fouche 
has  made  up  his  mind  to  make  use  of  some  Judith  out  of 
the  streets  against  me  ;  and  in  my  situation,  it  is  very 
natural  that  my  best  friends  should  think  that  you  are  too 
handsome  to  be  an  honest  woman  ' 

The  marquis  looked  straight  into  the  depths  of 
Mile,  de  Verneuil's  eyes ;  her  colour  rose,  she  could  not 
keep  back  the  tears. 

c  Oh,  I  have  deserved  these  insults,'  she  cried.     c  I 


1 56 


The  Chouans 


would  fain  see  you  convinced  that  I  am  a  despicable 
creature,  and  yet  know  myself  beloved — then  I  should 
doubt  you  no  longer.  I  believed  in  you  when  you 
deceived  me,  but  you  have  no  belief  in  me  when  I  am 
sincere.  There,  that  is  enough,  sir  ! '  she  said,  knitting 
her  brows,  and  growing  white,  like  a  woman  about  to 
die.  4  Farewell.*  She  fled  into  the  dining-room  with  a 
desperate  impulse. 

c  Marie,  my  life  is  yours,'  said  the  young  marquis  in 
her  ear.    She  stopped  and  looked  at  him. 

'  No,  no,'  she  said  ;  c  I  will  be  generous.  Farewell. 
When  I  followed  you  hither,  I  was  mad  ;  I  was  thinking 
neither  of  my  own  past  nor  of  your  future.' 

c  What !  you  leave  me  at  the  moment  when  I  lay  my 
life  at  your  feet  ' 

c  It  is  offered  in  a  moment  of  passion,  of  desire  ' 

i  It  is  offered  without  regret  and  for  ever,'  said  he. 
She  came  back  again,  and  to  hide  his  emotion  the  marquis 
resumed  their  conversation — 

4  That  stout  man  whose  name  you  asked  for  is  a  formid- 
able person.  He  is  the  Abbe  Gudin,  one  of  those  Jesuits 
who  are  obstinate  enough,  or,  it  may  be,  devoted  enough, 
to  stop  in  France  in  the  teeth  of  the  edict  of  1763,  which 
drove  them  into  exile.  He  is  the  firebrand  of  war  in 
these  parts,  and  a  propagandist  of  the  religious  confraternity 
named  after  the  Sacred  Heart.  He  makes  use  of  religion 
as  a  means  towards  his  ends,  so  he  persuades  his  proselytes 
that  they  will  come  to  life  again,  and  he  understands  how 
to  sustain  their  fanaticism  by  dexterously  contrived 
prophecy.  You  see  how  it  is  :  one  must  seek  to  gain 
over  every  one  through  his  private  interests,  in  order  to 
reach  a  great  end.    That  is  the  whole  secret  of  policy.' 

c  And  that  muscular  person  in  a  vigorous  old  age,  with 
such  a  repulsive  face  ?  There,  look  !  the  man  who  is 
wearing  a  ragged  lawyer's  gown.' 

*  Lawyer  !  He  aspires  to  the  title  of  marechal  de  camp. 
Have  you  never  heard  them  speak  of  Longuy  ?  ' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


*57 


cIs  that  he  ? 9  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  startled.  4  And 
you  make  use  of  such  men  as  he  ? 9 

4  Hush  !  he  might  overhear  you.  Do  you  see  thatother 
man  in  unhallowed  converse  with  Mme.  du  Gua  ? ' 

c  The  man  in  black  who  looks  like  a  judge  ?  ■ 

4  He  is  one  of  our  diplomatists,  La  Billardiere,  the  son 
of  a  counsellor  in  the  Parliament  of  Brittany  ;  his  name  is 
Flamet,  or  something  like  it ;  but  he  is  in  the  confidence 
of  the  princes.' 

4  Then  there  is  his  neighbour,  who  is  clutching  his  white 
clay  pipe  at  this  moment,  and  leaning  the  fingers  of  his 
right  hand  against  the  panel  of  the  wainscot,  like  a  boor  ? 9 
said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  laughing. 

4  Pardieu  !  your  guess  about  him  is  correct.  He  was 
formerly  gamekeeper  to  that  lady's  husband,  now  deceased. 
He  is  in  command  of  one  of  the  companies,  which  I  am 
opposing  to  the  mobile  battalions.  He  and  Marche-a- 
Terre  are  perhaps  the  most  scrupulously  loyal  servants  that 
the  King  has  hereabouts.' 

'But  who  is  she  ?' 

4  She  was  Charette's  last  mistress,'  the  marquis  replied. 
4  She  has  a  great  influence  over  everybody  here.' 

4  Has  she  remained  faithful  to  his  memory  ? '  All  the 
answer  vouchsafed  by  the  marquis  was  a  dubious  kind  of 
compression  of  the  lips. 

4  Have  you  a  good  opinion  of  her  ? ' 

4  Really  ;  you  are  very  inquisitive  ! ' 

4  She  is  my  enemy  because  she  can  be  my  rival  no 
longer,'  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  laughing.  4 1  forgive  her 
her  past  errors,  so  let  her  forgive  mine.  Who  is  that 
officer  with  the  moustaches  ? ' 

4  Permit  me  to  leave  his  name  unmentioned.  He  is 
determined  to  rid  us  of  the  First  Consul  by  attacking  him 
sword  in  hand.  Whether  he  succeeds  or  no,  you  will 
hear  of  him  ;  he  will  become  famous.' 

4  And  you  are  come  hither  to  command  such  men 
as  these  ? '  she  said,  aghast,  4  and  these  are  the  King's 


The  Chouans 


champions  ?  Where  are  the  great  lords  and  the  gentle- 
men ? ' 

4  Why,  they  are  scattered  throughout  every  court  in 
Europe  ! '  said  the  marquis  scornfully.  *  Who  but  they 
are  enlisting  kings  with  their  armies  and  their  cabinets 
in  the  service  of  the  House  of  Bourbon,  to  hurl  them  all 
upon  this  Republic,  which  is  threatening  monarchy  and 
social  order  everywhere  with  utter  destruction  !  ! 

cAh!'  she  answered  him,  stirred  by  an  enthusiastic 
impulse,  'from  this  time  forward  be  for  me  the  pure 
source  whence  I  shall  draw  all  the  rest  of  the  ideas  that  I 
must  learn  ;  I  am  willing  that  it  should  be  so.  But  leave 
me  the  thought  that  you  are  the  one  noble  who  does  his 
duty  in  attacking  France  with  Frenchmen  and  not  with 
foreign  auxiliaries.  I  am  a  woman,  and  I  feel  that  if  my 
own  child  were  to  strike  me  in  anger,  I  could  forgive 
him  ;  but  if  he  could  see  me  torn  in  pieces  by  a  stranger, 
I  should  consider  him  a  monster.' 

4  You  will  always  be  a  Republican  ! '  said  the  marquis, 
overcome  by  a  delightful  intoxication  ;  the  strong  feeling 
in  her  tones  had  strengthened  his  confident  hopes. 

c  A  Republican  ?  No  ;  I  am  that  no  longer.  I  should 
not  respect  you  if  you  were  to  make  your  submission  to 
the  First  Consul,'  she  replied.  c  But  neither  should  I  be 
willing  to  see  you  at  the  head  of  the  men  who  are  plunder- 
ing a  corner  of  France,  when  they  should  be  attacking  the 
Republic  in  form.  For  whom  are  you  fighting  ?  What 
do  you  look  for  from  a  king  restored  to  the  throne  by 
your  hands  ?  A  woman  once  before  achieved  this  glorious 
master-stroke,  and  the  king  whom  she  delivered  let  them 
burn  her  alive.  Such  as  he  are  the  anointed  of  the  Lord, 
and  it  is  perilous  to  touch  hallowed  things.  Leave  it  to 
God  alone  to  set  them  up,  to  take  them  down,  or  to 
replace  them  on  their  dais  among  the  purple.  If  you  have 
weighed  the  reward  that  will  be  meted  out  to  you,  then 
in  my  eyes  you  are  ten  times  greater  than  I  have  ever 
thought  you.    If  that  is  so,  trample  me  beneath  your  feet 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


*59 


if  you  will ;  I  would  give  you  leave  to  do  so,  and  be 
glad!' 

'  You  are  enchanting  !  But  do  not  try  to  urge  your 
doctrine  on  these  gentlemen,  or  I  shall  be  left  without 
soldiers.' 

c  Ah  !  if  you  would  let  me  convert  you,  we  would  go  a 
thousand  leagues  away  from  here.' 

c  These  men,  whom  you  appear  to  despise,  will  know 
how  to  die  in  the  struggle/  said  the  marquis  in  a  more 
serious  tone  ;  *  and  all  their  faults  will  be  forgotten  then. 
Besides,  if  my  efforts  are  crowned  with  any  success,  will 
not  the  laurels  of  victory  hide  everything  ? ' 

6  You  are  the  only  one  present  who  has  anything  to 
lose,  as  far  as  I  can  see.' 

4 1  am  not  the  only  one,'  he  replied  with  real  humility. 
c  There  are  those  two  Vendean  chiefs  over  there.  The 
first  one,  whom  you  have  heard  spoken  of  as  the  Grande- 
Jacques,  is  the  Comte  de  Fontaine,  and  the  other  La 
Billardiere,  whom  I  have  already  pointed  out  to  you.' 

cDo  you  forget  Quiberon,  where  La  Billardiere  played 
a  very  strange  part,'  she  answered,  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought  of  the  past. 

i  La  Billardiere  has  undertaken  heavy  responsibilities, 
believe  me.  Those  who  serve  the  princes  do  not  lie 
upon  roses.' 

c  You  make  me  shudder  ! '  cried  Marie  ;  then  she  went 
on  in  a  tone  which  indicated  that  she  was  keeping  in  the 
background  some  mystery  that  concerned  him  personally. 
4  A  single  moment  is  enough  for  the  destruction  of  an 
illusion,  and  to  reveal  secrets  on  which  the  lives  and 
happiness  of  many  men  depend.'  She  paused  as  if  she 
were  afraid  of  having  said  too  much,  and  added, c  I  should 
like  to  know  that  the  soldiers  of  the  Republic  are  in 
safety.' 

4 1  will  be  very  careful,'  he  said,  smiling  to  conceal  his 
agitation  :  c  but  say  no  more  about  your  soldiers,  I  have 
answered  for  them  to  you  on  the  faith  of  a  gentleman.' 


i6o 


The  Chouans 


c  And,  after  all,  what  right  had  I  to  dictate  to  you  ?  * 
she  resumed.  c  You  are  to  be  the  master  always  when  it 
lies  between  us  two.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  I  should  be 
in  despair  to  reign  over  a  slave  ?  1 

1  My  lord  marquis,'  said  Major  Brigaut  respectfully, 
interrupting  the  conversation,  'will  the  Blues  remain 
here  for  some  time  ? ' 

4  They  will  go  on  again  as  soon  as  they  are  rested,' 
Marie  cried. 

The  marquis  sent  searching  glances  round  the  com- 
pany, observed  the  excitement  among  them,  went  from 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  and  left  Mme.  du  Gua  to  take  his 
place  at  her  side.  The  young  chiefs  sarcastic  smile  did 
not  disturb  the  treacherous  mask  of  good  humour  upon 
her  features.  Just  as  she  came,  Francine  uttered  a  cry 
which  she  herself  promptly  stifled.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
beheld  with  astonishment  her  faithful  country-girl  dash 
into  the  dining-room.  She  looked  at  Mme.  du  Gua,  and 
her  surprise  increased  when  she  saw  the  pallor  that  over- 
spread the  face  of  her  enemy.  Curious  to  learn  the 
reason  of  this  hasty  flight,  she  turned  towards  the  em- 
brasure of  the  window,  followed  thither  by  her  rival,  who 
wished  to  lull  any  suspicions  which  an  indiscretion  might 
have  awakened,  and  who  smiled  upon  her  with  indescrib- 
able spitefulness  as  they  returned  together  to  the  hearth 
after  both  had  glanced  over  the  landscape  and  the  lake. 
Marie  had  seen  nothing  which  justified  Francine's 
departure,  and  Mme.  du  Gua  was  satisfied  that  she  was 
being  obeyed. 

The  lake,  from  the  brink  of  which  Marche-a-Terre 
had  appeared  in  the  courtyard  when  the  lady  called  him 
forth,  went  to  join  the  moat  that  surrounded  and  pro- 
tected the  gardens,  forming  winding  stretches  of  water 
with  mist  above  it,  sometimes  as  wide  as  a  lake,  sometimes 
as  narrow  as  the  ornamental  streams  contrived  in  parks. 
The  steep  sloping  banks,  past  which  the  clear  water  was 
rippling,  ran  but  a  few  fathoms  distant  from  the  windows. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  161 

Francine  had  been  engaged  in  musing  on  the  black  out- 
lines of  several  old  willow  stumps  against  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  in  noticing  with  indifferent  eyes  the  uniform 
curve  that  a  light  breeze  was  giving  to  the  willow 
branches.  Suddenly,  she  thought  she  saw  one  of  these 
shapes  moving,  on  the  mirror  of  the  water,  in  the 
spontaneous  and  uneven  fashion  by  which  some  living 
thing  is  revealed.  The  shape,  howsoever  dim  it  was, 
seemed  to  be  that  of  a  man. 

At  first  Francine  gave  the  credit  of  her  vision  to 
the  broken  outlines  produced  by  the  moonlight  falling 
through  the  leaves  ;  but  very  soon  a  second  head  appeared, 
and  yet  others  showed  themselves  in  the  distance.  The 
low  shrubs  along  the  bank  swayed  violently  up  and  down, 
till  Francine  saw  along  the  whole  length  of  hedge  a 
gradual  motion  like  that  of  a  huge  Indian  serpent  of 
fabulous  proportions.  Here  and  there  among  the  tufts  of 
broom  and  the  brambles  points  of  light  gleamed  and 
danced.  Redoubling  her  attention,  Marche-a-Terre's 
sweetheart  thought  that  she  recognised  the  first  of  the 
black  forms  that  moved  along  the  quivering  growth  on 
the  bank.  However  vague  the  outlines  of  the  man,  the 
beating  of  her  heart  convinced  her  that  in  him  she  saw 
Marche-a-Terre. 

A  gesture  made  it  clear  to  her.  Impatient  to  learn 
if  some  treachery  or  other  were  not  lurking  behind  this 
mysterious  proceeding,  she  rushed  in  the  direction  of  the 
court.  When  she  came  into  the  middle  of  the  green 
space,  she  looked  from  the  two  wings  of  the  house  to  the 
banks  on  either  side,  without  discerning  any  trace  what- 
ever of  a  furtive  movement  on  the  side  which  faced  the 
inhabited  wing.  A  faint  rustling  sound  reached  her ;  as 
she  lent  an  attentive  ear  to  it,  it  sounded  like  a  noise 
made  by  some  wild  creature  in  the  silence  of  the  forests ; 
she  shuddered,  but  she  did  not  tremble.  Young  and 
innocent  as  she  yet  was,  her  curiosity  swiftly  prompted  a 
stratagem.    She  saw  the  coach,  and  ran  to  crouch  within 

L 


l62 


The  Chouans 


it ;  only  raising  her  head,  with  all  the  caution  of  a  hare 
that  has  the  sound  of  the  far-off  hunt  ringing  in  her  ears. 
She  saw  Pi  lie-Mi  che  come  out  of  the  stable.  There 
were  two  peasants  with  the  Chouan,  and  all  three 
were  carrying  trusses  of  straw.  These  they  spread  out  so 
as  to  form  a  long  sort  of  shake-down  in  front  of  the 
inhabited  pile  of  buildings  that  ran  parallel  with  the 
embankment  where  the  stunted  trees  were  growing. 
The  Chouans  were  still  marching  there  with  a  noiseless- 
ness  which  revealed  the  fact  that  some  horrible  plot  was 
being  prepared. 

6  You  are  giving  them  straw  as  if  they  really  were  to 
sleep  there.  That's  enough !  Pille-Miche,  that's  enough ! ' 
muttered  a  hoarse  voice  which  Francine  recognised. 

c  And  aren't  they  going  to  sleep  there  ? '  retorted  Pille- 
Miche,  with  a  stupid  horse-laugh.  c  But  are  you  not  afraid 
that  the  Gars  will  be  angry  ? '  he  went  on  in  a  voice  so 
low  that  Francine  caught  nothing  of  it. 

c  Oh,  well,  he  will  be  angry,'  Marche-a-Terre  replied, 
in  rather  louder  tones ;  c  but  all  the  same,  we  shall  have 
killed  the  Blues.  There  is  a  carriage  here,'  he  went  on  j 
c  we  must  put  that  away.' 

Pi  lie-Mi  che  drew  the  coach  by  the  pole,  and  Marche- 
a-Terre  gave  such  a  vigorous  push  to  one  of  the  wheels, 
that  Francine  found  herself  inside  the  barn,  and  just  about 
to  be  locked  up  in  it,  before  she  could  think  over  her 
situation.  Pille-Miche  went  to  help  to  fetch  the  hogs- 
head of  cider  which  was  to  be  served  out  to  the  soldiers 
of  the  escort  by  the  orders  of  the  Marquis.  Marche-a- 
Terre  walked  the  length  of  the  coach  on  his  way  out  to 
shut  the  door,  when  he  felt  a  hand  that  stopped  him  by  a 
clutch  at  the  long  hair  of  his  goatskin.  He  recognised 
the  eyes  whose  sweetness  exercised  a  power  over  him  like 
magnetism,  and  stood  still  for  a  moment  as  if  spellbound. 
Francine  sprang  hastily  out  of  the  coach,  and  spoke  in 
the  aggressive  tone  that  is  so  wonderfully  becoming  to  a 
woman  in  vexation — 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


*  Pierre,  what  news  did  you  bring,  as  we  came,  to  that 
lady  and  her  son  ?  What  are  they  doing  here  ?  Why 
are  you  hiding  yourself  ?    I  want  to  know  everything  ? ' 

Her  words  brought  an  expression  into  the  Chouan's 
face  which  Francine  had  never  yet  known  there.  The 
Breton  drew  his  innocent  mistress  to  the  threshold  of  the 
door ;  he  turned  her  so  that  the  white  rays  of  the  moon- 
light fell  upon  her,  and  made  his  answer,  gazing  at  her 
the  while  with  terrible  eyes — 

c  Yes,  by  my  damnation  !  Francine,  I  will  tell  you, 
but  only  when  you  have  sworn  to  me  on  this  rosary  ! — 
and  he  drew  out  a  worn  string  of  beads  from  under  his 
goatskin — 'swear  upon  this  relic  that  you  know,'  he  went 
on,  c  to  answer  me  truly  one  single  question.' 

Francine  blushed  as  she  looked  at  the  rosary;  some 
lover's  keepsake  between  them  doubtless. 

4  It  was  on  this,'  the  Chouan  went  on,  shaken  with 
ernotion,  c  that  you  swore  ' 

He  did  not  finish,  for  the  peasant-girl  laid  her  hand 
on  the  lips  of  her  wild  lover  to  enjoin  silence  upon 
him. 

c  Is  there  any  need  for  me  to  swear  ? '  asked  she. 

He  took  his  mistress  gently  by  the  hand,  looked  at  her 
for  a  moment,  and  went  on,  c  Is  the  young  lady  whom 
you  serve  really  Mile,  de  Verneuil  ? ' 

Francine  stood  motionless  with  her  arms  at  her  sides, 
with  bowed  head  and  drooping  eyelids,  pale  and  confused. 

c  She  is  a  baggage ! '  Marche-a-Terre  went  on  in  a 
terrible  voice. 

The  pretty  hand  tried  once  more  to  cover  his  lips  at 
that  word,  but  this  time  he  recoiled  from  her  in  fury. 
The  little  Breton  maid  no  longer  saw  her  lover  before 
her,  but  a  wild  beast  in  all  his  natural  ferocity.  His 
brows  were  drawn  into  a  heavy  scowl ;  his  lips  curled 
back  in  a  snarl  that  showed  his  teeth ;  he  looked  like  a 
dog  defending  his  master. 

c 1  left  you  a  flower,  and  I  find  you  garbage  !    Ah  ! 


164 


The  Chouans 


why  did  I  leave  you  ?  You  are  come  here  to  betray  us, 
to  deliver  up  the  Gars  ! ' 

These  phrases  were  roared  rather  than  articulated. 
Terrified  as  Francine  was,  she  dared  to  look  this  savage 
in  the  face  at  this  last  reproach,  raised  her  eyes  like  an 
angel's  to  his,  and  answered  quietly — 

c  That  is  false  ;  I  will  stake  my  salvation  on  it.  These 
are  some  of  your  lady's  notions.' 

He  lowered  his  head  in  his  turn.  She  took  his  hand, 
came  close  to  him  caressingly,  and  said,  c  Pierre,  why  are 
we  going  on  like  this  ?  Listen,  I  do  not  know  if  you 
yourself  understand  something  of  all  this,  for  I  can  make 
nothing  of  it.  But  remember  that  this  beautiful  and 
noble  young  lady  is  my  benefactress,  and  yours  too — we 
live  together  almost  like  sisters.  No  harm  of  any  sort 
ought  to  come  to  her  so  long  as  we  are  with  her — not 
while  we  are  both  alive,  at  any  rate.  So  swear  to  me 
that  this  shall  be  so,  for  you  are  the  only  person  here 
whom  I  can  trust.' 

c  I  am  not  the  master  here,'  the  Chouan  replied  in  a 
sullen  tone.  His  face  grew  dark.  She  took  his  great 
hanging  ears  and  gently  twisted  them  as  if  she  were 
caressing  a  cat. 

c  Well,  then,  promise  me  to  use  all  the  power  you  have 
to  ensure  the  safety  of  our  benefactress,'  she  continued, 
seeing  that  he  relented  somewhat.  He  shook  his  head  as 
if  dubious  of  his  success,  a  gesture  that  made  the  Breton 
girl  shudder.  The  escort  arrived  on  the  causeway  at  this 
critical  moment.  The  tramp  of  the  men,  and  the  clank- 
ing of  their  weapons,  woke  the  echoes  of  the  courtyard, 
and  apparently  put  an  end  to  Marche-a-Terre's  hesita- 
tion. 

(  Perhaps  I  shall  succeed  in  saving  her,'  said  he  to  his 
mistress,  c  if  you  can  keep  her  in  the  house.  And  what- 
ever may  happen,'  he  added,  cstay  there  with  her  and 
keep  the  most  absolute  secrecy.  Without  that  I  will 
engage  for  nothing.' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  165 

c  I  promise,'  she  answered  in  her  terror. 
i  Very  well ;  go  in.   In  with  you  at  once  !   And  let  no 
one  see  that  you  are  frightened — not  even  your  mistress.' 
'Yes.' 

The  Chouan  looked  at  her  in  a  fatherly  way.  She 
pressed  his  hand  and  fled  with  the  swiftness  of  a  bird 
towards  the  flight  of  steps ;  while  he  slipped  into  the  hedge 
he  had  left,  like  an  actor  who  rushes  to  the  wings  as  the 
curtain  rises  on  a  tragedy. 

cDo  you  know,  Merle,  this  place  looks  to  me  like  a 
regular  mouse- trap,'  said  Gerard,  as  they  reached  the 
chateau. 

'  Yes,  I  see  that  perfectly  well,'  the  captain  answered 
thoughtfully.  Both  officers  hastened  to  post  sentinels  so 
as  to  secure  the  causeway  and  the  gate ;  then  they  cast 
suspicious  glances  over  the  embankments  and  the  lie  of 
the  land  about  them. 

^  Pshaw!'  said  Merle;  cwe  must  either  frankly  trust 
ourselves  in  these  barracks,  or  keep  out  of  them  al- 
together.' 

4  Let  us  go  in,'  answered  Gerard. 

Released  from  duty  by  a  word  from  their  commander, 
the  soldiers  quickly  stacked  their  guns  in  conical  piles, 
and  pitched  their  colours  in  front  of  the  litter  of  straw, 
with  the  cask  of  cider  standing  in  the  centre  of  it. 
They  broke  up  into  groups,  and  a  couple  of  peasants 
began  to  serve  out  rye-bread  and  butter  to  them.  The 
Marquis  came  forward  and  took  the  two  officers  into  the 
salon.  As  Gerard  reached  the  top  of  the  flight  of  steps, 
he  took  a  look  at  the  two  wings  of  the  house  where  the 
aged  larches  were  spreading  their  black  branches,  and 
called  Beau-Pied  and  Clef-des-Cceurs  to  him. 

'Both  of  you  go  and  reconnoitre  the  gardens  and 
search  the  hedges.  Do  you  understand  ?  And  then 
post  a  sentinel  in  front  of  your  line  of  defence.' 

'May  we  light  a  fire  before  we  set  out  on  our  prowl, 
adjutant?'  said  Clef-des-Coeurs. 


The  Chouans 


Gerard  nodded. 

c  You  see  it  for  yourself,  Clef-des-Coeurs,'  said  Beau- 
Pied  'y  cthe  adjutant  made  a  mistake  in  poking  himself 
into  this  hornet's  nest.  If  Hulot  had  been  commanding 
us,  he  would  never  have  run  us  into  this  corner ;  it  is  as 
if  we  were  in  the  bottom  of  a  pot  here.' 

c  What  an  ass  you  are  ! '  exclaimed  Clef-des-Coeurs. 
'You,  the  king  of  sharp  fellows,  can't  guess  that  this 
sentry-box  of  a  chateau  belongs  to  the  amiable  individual 
for  whom  our  gay  Merle,  the  most  accomplished  of 
captains,  is  tuning  his  pipe.  He  is  going  to  marry  her, 
that  is  as  easy  to  see  as  a  well-polished  bayonet ;  and 
such  a  woman  as  that  will  be  a  credit  to  the  demi- 
brigade.' 

'True,'  answered  Beau-Pied,  cand  you  might  add  that 
there  is  good  cider  here,  but  I  can't  drink  it  with  any 
relish  in  front  of  those  beastly  hedges.  I  seem  to  see 
Larose  and  Vieux-Chapeau  coming  to  grief  in  the  ditch 
up  yonder  on  La  Pelerine.  I  shall  never  forget  poor  old 
Larose's  queue  as  long  as  I  live ;  it  bobbed  up  and  down, 
like  a  knocker  on  a  front  door.' 

'  Beau-Pied,  my  friend,  you  have  too  much  imagina- 
tion for  a  soldier.  You  ought  to  make  poetry  at  the 
National  Institute.' 

6  If  I  have  too  much  imagination,'  Beau-Pied  answered, 
6  you  yourself  have  hardly  any.  It  will  be  a  good  while 
before  you  come  to  be  consul.' 

The  laughter  of  the  troop  put  an  end  to  the  dispute, 
as  Clef-des-Coeurs  found  no  answering  shaft  for  his 
adversary  in  his  quiver. 

c  Are  you  ready  to  make  your  round  ?  I  myself  am 
going  to  take  to  the  right,'  said  Beau-Pied. 

c  All  right ;  I  will  take  the  left,'  his  comrade  answered. 
4  But  hold  on  a  moment !  I  want  to  drink  a  glass  of 
cider ;  my  throat  is  all  glued  together  like  the  sticking- 
plaster  that  covered  Hulot's  best  hat.' 

Unluckily,  the  perilous  embankment,  where  Francine 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


i67 


had  seen  the  men  moving,  lay  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  gardens,  which  Clef-des-Cceurs  was  neglecting  to 
beat  up  at  once.    War  is  altogether  a  game  of  chance. 

As  Gerard  entered  the  salon  and  saluted  the  company, 
he  gave  a  searching  look  round  at  the  men  of  whom  it 
was  composed.  His  suspicions  recurred  to  his  mind 
in  greater  force.  He  went  suddenly  up  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  and  spoke  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  c  I  think  you 
ought  to  make  a  retreat  at  once ;  we  are  not  safe 
here.' 

c  Can  you  fear  anything  in  my  house  ? '  she  asked, 
laughing.  cYou  are  safer  here  than  you  would  be  in 
Mayenne.' 

A  woman  always  answers  unhesitatingly  for  her  lover. 
The  two  officers  were  less  uneasy ;  and  just  then,  in  spite 
of  some  unimportant  remarks  about  an  absent  guest  whose 
consequence  was  sufficient  to  keep  them  waiting  for  him, 
the  company  went  into  the  dining-room.  Thanks  to  the 
usual  silence  which  prevails  at  the  beginning  of  a  meal, 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  pay  some  attention  to  this  meet- 
ing, so  strange  under  the  present  circumstances.  She 
herself  had  in  a  manner  been  the  cause  of  it.  It  had 
come  about  through  the  ignorance  which  women  who 
treat  everything  according  to  their  own  caprice  are  wont 
to  bring  to  the  most  critical  actions  in  life.  One  fact 
suddenly  struck  her  with  surprise.  The  two  Republican 
officers  towered  above  the  others  by  the  impressive 
character  of  their  features.  Their  long  hair  was  drawn 
away  from  the  temples  and  gathered  at  the  nape  of  the 
neck  into  a  huge  plaited  tail,  leaving  the  outlines  of  their 
foreheads  clearly  defined  in  a  way  that  gives  an  appear- 
ance of  sincerity  and  dignity  to  a  young  face.  Their 
threadbare  blue  uniforms,  with  the  worn  red  facings,  their 
epaulettes  flung  behind  their  shoulders  in  many  a  march 
(plainly  showing  a  lack  of  greatcoats  throughout  the 
army,  even  among  the  officers  themselves) ;  everything 
about  them,  in  fact,  brought  out  the  strong  contrast 


1 68 


The  Chouans 


between  these  two  military  men  and  the  others  who 
surrounded  them. 

c  Ah,'  she  said  to  herself,  c  this  is  the  Nation ;  this  is 
Liberty ! '  Then  she  glanced  round  the  Royalists, — cand 
there  is  the  one  man,  a  King  and  Privilege  ! '  she  said. 

She  could  not  help  admiring  Merle's  face ;  the  gallant 
soldier  so  completely  resembled  the  typical  French 
trooper,  who  can  whistle  an  air  as  the  bullets  fall  thick 
about  him,  and  who  cannot  forego  a  gibe  at  a  comrade 
who  meets  with  an  awkward  accident.  Gerard  was 
impressive.  In  his  sternness  and  self-possession  he 
seemed  to  be  one  of  those  Republicans  from  conviction, 
who  were  to  be  met  with  in  such  numbers  at  this  time 
in  the  French  armies — an  element  of  noble  unobtrusive 
devotion,  that  lent  to  them  an  energy  never  known 
before. 

c  There  is  another  of  these  men  with  a  large  outlook,' 
said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  herself.  c  They  are  the  masters 
of  the  present  on  which  they  take  their  stand  ;  they  are 
shattering  the  past,  but  it  is  for  the  benefit  of  the  future.' 

The  thought  made  her  melancholy,  because  it  had  no 
bearing  upon  her  lover.  She  turned  towards  him,  that  a 
different  feeling  of  admiration  might  make  reparation  for 
her  tribute  to  that  Republic  which  she  already  began  to 
hate.  She  saw  the  Marquis  surrounded  by  men  fanatical 
and  daring  enough,  and  sufficiently  keen  speculators  to 
attack  a  triumphant  Republic  in  the  hope  of  reinstating 
a  dead  monarchy,  a  proscribed  religion,  princes  errant,  and 
defunct  privileges.  c  His  scope  of  action,'  she  thought, 
c  is  no  less  than  that  of  the  other ;  he  is  groping  among 
the  ruins  of  a  past  out  of  which  he  seeks  to  make  a 
future.' 

Her  imagination,  fancy-fed,  hesitated  between  the  new 
and  the  old  ruins.  Her  conscience  clamoured  in  her, 
that  the  one  was  fighting  for  a  man  and  the  other  for  a 
country  ;  but  by  means  of  sentiment  she  had  arrived  at 
the  point  which  is  reached  by  the  way  of  reason,  when 


A  Notion  of  Fouches  169 

it  is  recognised  that  the  King  is  the  same  thing  as  the 
country. 

—  The  Marquis  heard  the  sound  of  a  man's  footsteps  in 
the  salon,  and  rose  to  go  to  meet  him.  He  recognised 
the  belated  guest  who  tried  to  speak  to  him,  in  surprise 
at  his  company  ;  but  the  Gars  hid  from  the  Republicans 
a  sign  by  which  he  desired  the  stranger  to  take  his  place 
at  the  banquet  and  to  keep  silence.  When  the  two 
Republican  officers  examined  the  features  of  their  hosts, 
the  suspicions  at  first  entertained  by  them  awoke  afresh. 
Their  prudence  was  aroused  at  the  sight  of  the  Abbe 
Gudin's  ecclesiastical  vestments  and  the  outlandish 
costumes  of  the  Chouans.  Their  heed  redoubled  ;  they 
discovered  amusing  contrasts  between  the  talk  and  the 
manners  of  the  guests.  If  some  of  them  showed 
symptoms  of  ultra-Republicanism,  the  bearing  of  certain 
others  was  just  as  pronouncedly  aristocratic.  Certain 
glances  exchanged  between  the  Marquis  and  his  guests, 
which  they  detected,  certain  ambiguous  words  incautiously 
dropped  ;  and  more  than  either  of  these  things,  the  round 
beards  which  adorned  the  throats  of  several  guests  who 
unsuccessfully  tried  to  conceal  them  by  their  cravats, 
apprised  the  officers  of  the  truth,  which  struck  them  both 
at  the  same  moment. 

They  communicated  the  same  thought  to  each  other 
by  the  same  glance,  for  Mme.  du  Gua  had  cleverly 
separated  them,  and  they  had  to  fall  back  upon  the 
language  of  the  eyes.  The  situation  required  that  they 
should  act  adroitly.  They  did  not  know  whether  they 
were  the  masters  ot  the  chateau,  or  whether  they  had 
been  snared  in  a  trap ;  they  had  no  idea  whether  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  was  a  dupe  or  an  accomplice  in  this  inexplic- 
able affair  ;  but  an  unforeseen  occurrence  hurried  matters 
to  a  crisis  before  they  could  fully  recognise  its  gravity. 

The  newly-arrived  guest  was  one  of  those  men,  squarely 
built  in  every  way,  with  a  high-coloured  complexion, 
who  fling  their  shoulders  back  as  they  walk,  who  seem  to 


The  Chouans 


make  a  flutter  in  the  atmosphere  round  about  them,  and 
to  be  of  the  opinion  that  every  one  needs  must  take  more 
than  one  look  at  them.  In  spite  of  his  noble  birth,  he 
had  taken  life  as  a  joke  which  must  be  made  the  best  of ; 
and  though  he  had  a  devout  veneration  for  himself,  he  was 
good-natured,  well-mannered,  and  witty,  after  the  manner 
of  those  gentlemen  who,  having  finished  their  education 
at  court,  have  retired  to  their  estates ;  whereon,  even 
after  the  lapse  of  twenty  years,  they  will  never  believe 
that  they  have  grown  rusty.  Men  of  this  description 
say  and  do  the  wrong  thing  with  assured  self-possession  ; 
they  talk  rubbish  in  a  lively  way,  show  no  little  skill  in 
fighting  shy  of  good  fortune,  and  take  incredible  pains  to 
run  their  heads  into  nooses.  He  made  up  for  lost  time 
by  plying  his  knife  and  fork  in  a  way  which  showed  him 
to  be  a  stout  trencherman,  and  then  gave  a  look  round  at 
the  company.  At  the  sight  of  the  two  officers  his  sur- 
prise was  redoubled ;  he  directed  a  questioning  look  at 
Mme.  du  Gua,  who  only  replied  by  indicating  Mile,  de 
Verneuil.  When  he  set  eyes  on  the  siren  whose  beauty 
was  beginning  to  lay  to  rest  the  thoughts  which  Mme. 
du  Gua  had  at  first  aroused  in  the  minds  of  the  guests, 
one  of  those  insolent  and  derisive  smiles  that  seem  to  con- 
vey a  whole  scandalous  chronicle  broke  over  the  counten- 
ance of  the  stout  stranger.  He  bent  and  whispered  to  his 
neighbour  two  or  three  words  that  remained  a  mystery 
for  Marie  and  the  officers,  as  they  travelled  from  ear  to 
ear  and  from  mouth  to  mouth,  till  they  reached  the  heart 
of  him  into  whom  they  must  strike  death. 

The  Vendean  and  Chouan  chiefs  turned  their  scrutiny 
upon  the  Marquis  of  Montauran  with  merciless  curiosity. 
Mme.  du  Gua's  eyes  were  radiant  with  joy  as  they 
travelled  from  the  Marquis  to  the  astonished  Mile,  de 
Verneuil.  The  anxious  officers  seemed  to  consult  each 
other  as  they  awaited  the  upshot  of  this  extraordinary 
scene.  Then  in  a  moment  the  knives  and  forks  in  all 
hands  ceased  to  move,  silence  prevailed  in  the  place,  and 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


171 


all  eyes  were  concentrated  upon  the  Gars.  A  terrific 
burst  of  fury  had  turned  the  flushed  and  passionate  face  to 
the  hue  of  wax.  The  young  chief  turned  towards  the 
guest  who  had  set  this  squib  in  motion,  and  said  in  a  deep 
smothered  voice — 

c  Death  of  my  soul!  Count,  is  that  true?  '  he  de- 
manded. , 

c  On  my  honour,'  the  count  answered,  bowing  gravely. 
The  Marquis  lowered  his  eyes  for  one  moment ;  but  he 
raised  them  immediately  to  turn  them  once  more  upon 
Marie.  She  was  watching  this  struggle  closely,  and 
received  that  deadly  glance. 

c  I  would  give  my  life,'  he  muttered,  c  to  have  my 
revenge  at  this  moment.' 

Mme.  du  Gua  understood  these  words  from  the  mere 
movement  of  his  lips,  and  smiled  at  the  young  man,  as 
one  smiles  at  a  friend  who  is  about  to  be  delivered  from 
his  despair.  The  general  scorn  depicted  upon  all  faces 
for  Mile,  de  Verneuil  raised  the  indignation  of  the  two 
Republicans  to  the  highest  pitch.    They  rose  abruptly. 

4  What  do  you  desire,  citizens  ? '  asked  Mme.  du  Gua. 

c  Our  swords,  citoyenne  ! '  Gerard  replied,  ironically. 

*  You  do  not  require  them  at  table,'  said  the  Marquis 
coolly. 

4  No,  but  we  are  going  to  play  at  a  game  that  you 
understand,'  said  Gerard  as  he  reappeared.  c  We  shall 
see  each  other  a  little  closer  here  than  we  did  at  La 
Pelerine.' 

Tne  company  remained  struck  dumb.  The  court- 
yard rang  at  that  moment  with  a  volley,  fired  all  at  once 
and  in  a  way  that  sounded  terribly  in  the  ears  of  the  two 
officers.  They  both  rushed  to  the  flight  of  steps,  and 
saw  about  a  hundred  Chouans  taking  aim  at  the  few 
soldiers  who  had  survived  the  first  round  of  firing,  and 
shooting  them  down  like  hares.  These  Bretons  were 
coming  up  from  the  bank  where  Marche-a-Tei  re  had 
stationed  them  at  the  risk  of  their  lives  ;  for  during  these 


172 


The  Chouans 


manoeuvres,  and  after  the  last  shots  were  fired,  a  sound 
was  heard  through  the  cries  of  dying  men.  Several 
Chouans  had  dropped  like  stones  into  the  depths  of  the 
water  which  eddied  round  about  them.  Pille-Miche 
took  aim  at  Gerard  ;  Marche-a-Terre  covered  Merle. 

I  Captain/  the  Marquis  said  coolly,  repeating  to  Merle 
the  words  that  the  Republican  had  spoken  about  him, 
1  vou  see  that  nun  are  like  medlars ;  they  ripen  on  straw? 
He  waved  his  hand  to  show  the  captain  the  whole  escort 
of  Blues  lying  on  the  blood-drenched  litter,  where  the 
Chouans  were  despatching  the  living  and  stripping  the 
dead  with  incredible  rapidity.  4 1  was  quite  right  when  I 
told  you  that  your  men  would  never  reach  La  Pelerine,' 
added  the  Marquis,  'and  I  think  that  your  skull  will  be 
filled  with  lead  before  mine  is.    What  do  you  say  ? ' 

Montauran  felt  a  hideous  craving  to  slake  his  anger. 
His  own  taunts  of  the  vanquished,  the  cold-blooded 
crueltv,  the  verv  treacherv  of  this  military  execution, 
carried  out  without  his  orders,  but  to  which  he  now  gave 
his  countenance,  satisfied  the  inmost  wishes  of  his  heart. 
In  his  wrath  he  would  fain  have  destroved  all  France. 
The  mangled  Blues  and  their  surviving  officers,  all  of 
them  guiltless  of  the  crime  for  which  he  demanded 
vengeance,  were  in  his  hands  like  so  many  cards,  which 
the  gambler  gnaws  to  pieces  in  his  despair. 

I I  would  rather  perish  in  the  same  way  than  gloat  over 
it  as  you  do,'  said  Gerard.  He  looked  at  the  naked  blood- 
stained corpses  of  his  men.  c  Murdered  !  '  he  cried,  c  and 
after  this  cowardly  fashion  ! ' 

1  Like  Louis  xvi.,  sir  ! 1  the  Marquis  retorted  sharply. 

c  There  are  mysteries  in  the  trial  of  a  King  which  you, 
sir,  will  never  comprehend,5  said  Gerard  haughtily. 

1  Bring  a  King  to  trial !  1  cried  the  Marquis,  now  beside 
himself. 

*  Wage  war  against  France  ! '  said  Gerard  contemptu- 
ously. 

4  Preposterous  follv  !  1  caid  the  Marquis. 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


173 


c  Parricide  ! 9  the  Republican  retorted. 
c  Regicide ! 9 

c  What,  are  you  going  to  pick  a  quarrel  in  the  last 
minute  of  your  life  ? '  cried  Merle  gaily. 

'True,'  said  Gerard  coldly.  Then  turning  to  the 
marquis, c  Sir,'  he  said,  c  if  you  mean  to  put  us  to  death,  at 
least  do  us  the  favour  to  shoot  us  at  once.' 

'Just  like  you!'  the  captain  put  in  ;  'always  in  a 
hurry  to  be  done  with  a  thing.  But  when  one  sets  out 
on  a  long  journey,  my  friend,  and  there  is  to  be  no 
breakfast  the  next  morning,  one  has  supper  first.' 

Proudly,  and  without  a  word,  Gerard  sprang  towards 
the  wall ;  Pille-Miche  levelled  his  musket  at  him,  and 
glanced  at  the  impassive  marquis.  He  construed  the 
silence  of  his  chief  as  a  command,  and  the  adjutant-major 
fell  like  a  tree.  Marche-a-Terre  rushed  up  to  share  this 
fresh  spoil  with  Pille-Miche,  and  they  wrangled  and 
croaked  above  the  yet  warm  corpse  like  two  famished 
ravens. 

*  If  you  like  to  finish  your  supper,  captain,  you  are  at 
liberty  to  come  with  me,'  said  the  marquis,  who  wished 
to  keep  Merle  for  an  exchange  of  prisoners.  The  captain 
went  back  with  the  Marquis  mechanically,  murmuring  in 
a  low  voice  as  if  he  were  reproaching  himself,  c  It  is  that 
she-devil  of  a  light-of-love  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this   What  will  Hulot  say  ? ' 

c  Light-of-love  ! '  exclaimed  the  Marquis  in  a  smothered 
voice  \  c  then  there  is  no  doubt  about  what  she  really  is  ! ' 

The  captain  had  apparently  dealt  a  deathblow  to 
Montauran,  who  followed  him  pale,  haggard,  exhausted, 
and  with  tottering  steps.  Another  scene  had  been 
enacted  in  the  dining-room,  which  in  the  absence  of  the 
Marquis  had  taken  so  menacing  a  turn,  that  Marie,  who 
found  herself  deprived  of  her  protector,  could  read  her 
death-warrant  written  of  a  certainty  in  her  rival's  eyes. 
At  the  sound  of  the  volley  every  one  except  Mme.  du 
Gua  had  risen  from  the  table.    '  Take  your  seats  again,' 


*74 


The  Chouans 


said  she;  <it  is  nothing.  Our  people  are  killing  the 
Blues/ 

When  she  saw  that  the  marquis  was  well  out  of  the  room, 
she  rose.  c  Mademoiselle,  here,'  she  said,  with  the  calmness 
of  suppressed  rage,  c  came  to  carry  off  the  Gars  from  us. 
She  came  here  to  try  to  give  him  up  to  the  Republic' 

*  I  could  have  given  him  up  a  score  of  times  since  this 
morning,'  replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  ( and  I  have  saved 
his  life.' 

Mme.  du  Gua  sprang  at  her  rival  with  lightning  swift- 
ness. In  a  transport  of  blind  fury,  she  rent  the  feeble 
loops  of  twisted  braid  that  fastened  the  spencer  of  the  girl 
(who  stood  aghast  at  this  unlooked-for  assault),  and  with 
violent  hands  broke  into  the  sanctuary  where  the  letter 
lay  concealed,  tearing  her  way  through  the  material,  the 
embroideries,  corset,  and  shift.  Then  she  took  advantage 
of  this  search  to  assuage  her  personal  jealousy,  and 
managed  to  lacerate  her  rival's  throbbing  breast  with  such 
dexterity  and  fury,  that  her  nails  left  their  traces  in  the 
blood  that  they  had  drawn,  feeling  the  while  a  horrid 
pleasure  in  subjecting  her  victim  to  this  detestable  out- 
rage. In  the  faint  resistance  which  Marie  offered  to  this 
furious  woman,  her  unfastened  hood  fell  back ;  her  hair, 
released  from  restraint,  shook  itself  free  in  waving  curls  ; 
modesty  had  set  her  whole  face  aflame  ;  two  burning  tears 
fell,  that  left  their  gleaming  traces  on  her  cheeks  and 
made  the  fire  in  her  eyes  glow  brighter ;  she  stood 
quivering  at  the  indignity,  shuddering  under  the  eyes  of 
those  assembled.  Even  harsh  judges  would  have  believed 
in  her  innocence  when  they  saw  what  she  suffered. 
^  Hatred  is  so  clumsy  a  calculator  that  Mme.  du  Gua 
did  not  perceive  that  no  one  gave  any  heed  whatever  to  her 
when  she  cried  triumphantly,  'Look  here,  gentlemen; 
have  I  traduced  this  frightful  creature  now  ? ' 

c  Not  so  very  frightful,'  said  the  stout  guest,  who  had 
brought  about  this  disaster.  c  I  have  a  prodigious  liking 
for  frights  of  this  description.' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


175 


c  Here  is  an  order,'  said  the  merciless  Vendean  lady, 
4  signed  by  Laplace,  and  counter-signed  by  Dubois.' 
Several  raised  their  heads  at  the  two  names.  4  And  this  is 
the  gist  of  it,'  Mme.  du  Gua  continued — 

4  Military  citizen-commandants  of  every  rank,  local 
administrators ,  procureur-syndics,  and  so  forth,  in  the 
revolted  departments,  and  especially  those  situated  in  the 
localities  frequented  hy  the  ci-devant  Marquis  de  Montauran, 
chief  of  the  bandits,  and  nicknamed  the  Gars,  are  to  give 
every  help  and  assistance  to  the  citoyenne  Marie  Verneuil, 
and  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  orders  which  she  may  give 
them,  each  one,  in  everything  that  concerns  him,  and  so  on, 
and  so  on.' 

»  4  Here  is  an  Opera  girl  taking  an  illustrious  name  to 
soil  it  with  this  infamy,'  she  added. 

There  was  an  evident  stir  of  surprise  among  those 
assembled. 

4  The  contest  is  not  on  equal  terms  if  the  Republic  is 
going  to  employ  such  pretty  women  against  us  ! '  said  the 
Baron  du  Guenic  gaily. 

4  And  women,  moreover,  who  have  nothing  to  lose,' 
returned  Mme.  du  Gua. 

4  Nothing  ? '  said  the  Chevalier  du  Vissard  ;  4  Made- 
moiselle has  endowments  which  must  bring  her  in  a  pretty 
large  income  ! ' 

4  The  Republic  must  be  of  a  very  frivolous  turn  to  send 
us  women  of  pleasure  as  envoys,'  cried  the  Abbe  Gudin. 

4  But,  unfortunately,  Mademoiselle  seeks  those  pleasures 
which  kill,'  said  Mme.  du  Gua,  with  a  hideous  glee  in 
her  expression,  which  meant  that  the  end  to  this  jesting 
was  approaching. 

4  How  is  it  then  that  you  are  living  still,  madame  ? '  said 
Marie,  rising  to  her  feet  after  repairing  the  disorder  in 
her  dress.  The  cutting  epigram  silenced  the  company, 
and  compelled  their  respect  for  so  proud  a  victim.  Mme. 
du  Gua  noticed  a  smile  stealing  over  the  lips  of  the 
chiefs;  the  irony  in  it  infuriated  her;  she  neither  saw  the 


176 


The  Chouans 


entrance  of  the  Marquis  nor  of  the  captain,  who  followed 
him. 

'Pille-Miche,'  she  called  to  the  Chouan,  as  she  pointed 
out  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  c  here  is  my  share  of  the  spoil  ->  I 
make  her  over  to  you;  do  whatever  you  will  with  her.' 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  whole  roomful  at  the 
words  'whatever  you  will/  in  that  woman's  mouth ;  for 
behind  the  Marquis  there  appeared  the  hideous  heads  of 
Marche-a-Terre  and  Pille-Miche,  and  her  fate  was  evident 
in  all  its  horror. 

Francine  stood  as  if  thunderstruck,  with  clasped  hands 
and  eyes  brimming  with  tears.  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who 
recovered  all  her  self-possession  in  the  face  of  danger,  cast 
a  look  of  scorn  round  the  assembly,  snatched  her  letter 
back  from  Mme.  du  Gua,  and  held  up  her  head ;  her  eyes 
were  dry,  but  there  was  lightning  in  them  as  she  hastened 
towards  the  door,  where  Merle's  sword  was  standing. 
There  she  came  upon  the  Marquis,  who  stood  apathetic  and 
motionless  as  a  statue.  There  was  no  trace  of  pity  for 
her  in  his  face  ;  every  feature  was  rigid  and  immovable. 
Cut  to  the  heart,  her  life  grew  hateful  to  her.  This  man 
then,  who  had  professed  so  much  love  for  her,  had  listened 
to  the  taunts  that  had  been  heaped  upon  her ;  had  stood 
there,  a  frozen-hearted  spectator  of  the  outrage  she  had 
just  suffered  when  the  beauties  that  a  woman  reserves  for 
love  had  been  subjected  to  the  general  gaze.  Perhaps 
she  might  have  forgiven  Montauran  for  the  scorn  with 
which  he  regarded  her,  but  it  made  her  indignant  that  he 
should  have  seen  her  in  an  ignominious  position.  The 
dazed  look  she  turned  upon  him  was  full  of  hate,  for  she 
felt  a  dreadful  craving  for  revenge  awaking  within  her. 
She  saw  death  now  close  upon  her,  and  felt  oppressed  by 
her  own  powerlessness. 

Something  surged  up  in  her  head  like  an  eddying  tide 
of  madness.  For  her,  with  the  boiling  blood  in  her 
veins,  the  whole  world  seemed  wrapped  in  flames.  In- 
stead of  killing  herself  therefore,  she  snatched  up  the 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


177 


sword,  brandished  it  above  the  Marquis,  and  drove  it  at 
him  up  to  the  hilt ;  but  as  the  blade  had  slipped  between 
his  side  and  his  arm,  the  Gars  caught  Marie  by  the  wrist 
and  dragged  her  from  the  room,  aided  by  Pille-Miche, 
who  had  flung  himself  upon  the  frenzied  girl  just  as  she 
tried  to  kill  the  Marquis.  At  the  sight  of  all  this, 
Francine  shrieked.  » 

*  Pierre  !  Pierre  !  Pierre  ! '  she  cried  in  piteous  tones, 
following  her  mistress  as  she  wailed. 

The  Marquis  left  the  stupefied  assembly  and  went  out, 
shuttirig  the  door  of  the  room  behind  him.  He  was  still 
holding  the  girl's  wrist  tightly  in  a  convulsive  clutch 
when  he  reached  the  flight  of  steps ;  and  though  Pille- 
Miche's  nervous  hands  were  almost  crushing  the  bone  of 
her  arm,  she  was  conscious  of  nothing  but  the  burning 
fingers  of  the  young  chief,  at  whom  she  gazed  with  her 
cold  eyes. 

c  You  are  hurting  me,  sir  ! '  The  Marquis  looked  at 
his  mistress  for  an  instant,  and  this  was  all  the  answer 
that  he  made. 

c  Have  you  something  to  avenge  as  foully  as  thaj 
woman  has  done  ? '  said  she.  Then  she  shivered  as  she 
saw  the  corpses  stretched  out  upon  the  litter,  and  she 
cried,  c  The  faith  of  a  gentleman.  ...  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! ' 
Her  laughter  was  fearful  to  hear.  c  A  glorious  day  ! '  she 
added. 

4 Yes,'  he  echoed,  'a  glorious  day,  and  without  a 
morrow.' 

He  dropped  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  hand  when  he  had 
given  one  long,  last  look  at  the  magnificent  creature 
whom  he  found  it  all  but  impossible  to  renounce.  Neither 
of  these  two  highly  wrought  spirits  would  give  way. 
Perhaps  the  Marquis  was  waiting  for  a  tear,  but  the  girl's 
eyes  were  dry  and  proud.  He  turned  away  abruptly, 
and  left  Pille-Miche  his  victim. 

c  God  will  hear  me,  Marquis ;  I  shall  pray  to  Him  to 
give  you  a  glorious  day  without  a  morrow  ! ' 

M 


i7? 


The  Chouans 


Pille-Miche,  rather  at  a  loss  with  so  splendid  a  prey, 
drew  her  along  with  a  mixture  of  respect  and  mockery  in 
his  gentleness.  The  Marquis  heaved  a  sigh,  and  returned 
to  the  dining-room,  turning  upon  his  guests  a  face  like 
that  of  a  corpse  with  the  eyes  as  yet  unclosed. 

Captain  Merle's  presence  was  inexplicable  for  every 
actor  in  this  tragedy ;  every  one  looked  at  him  question- 
ingly  and  in  surprise.  Merle  perceived  their  astonishment, 
and,  smiling  sadly,  he  spoke,  still  in  character,  to  the 
Chouans. 

'  I  do  not  believe,  gentlemen,  that  you  can  refuse  a 
glass  of  wine  to  a  man  who  is  about  to  go  the  last  stage 
of  his  journey.' 

It  was  just  as  the  assemblage  had  been  restored  to 
equanimity  by  these  words,  uttered  with  a  Gallic  light- 
heartedness  which  was  bound  to  find  favour  with 
Vendeans,  that  Montauran  reappeared  ;  his  white  face  and 
the  fixed  look  in  his  eyes  struck  a  chill  through  every  guest. 

'  You  shall  see,'  said  the  captain,  c  that  dead  men  will 
set  the  living  going  ! ' 

cAhi '  said  the  Marquis,  with  the  involuntary  start  of 
a  man  who  wakes  from  sleep  ;  c  there  you  are,  my  dear 
Council-of-War  ! '  He  reached  for  a  bottle  of  vin  de 
Grave  as  if  to  fill  the  other's  glass. 

'Thanks,  citizen-marquis;  but,  you  see,  it  might  goto 
my  head.' 

At  this  witticism,  Mme.  du  Gua  spoke  smilingly  to  the 
guests. 

'Come,'  she  said  ;  c  let  us  spare  him  the  dessert.' 

c  You  are  very  cruel,  madame,  in  your  vengeance,'  the 
captain  answered.  4  You  forget  that  murdered  friend  of 
mine,  who  is  waiting  for  me ;  and  I  always  keep  my 
appointments.' 

*  Captain,'  said  the  Marquis,  'you  are  at  liberty! 
Stay,'  and  he  threw  his  glove  towards  him  ;  c  here  is  your 
passport.  The  Chasseurs  du  Rot  know  that  they  must 
not  kill  all  the  game  at  once/ 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  179 

'  Life  ! '  said  Merle,  c  very  well,  so  be  it  then  ;  but  you 
are  making  a  blunder.  You  shall  be  closely  pressed,  I 
will  engage  for  it,  and  I  shall  give  you  no  quarter.  You 
may  be  very  clever,  but  you  are  not  worth  as  much  as 
Gerard.  Still,  although  your  head  will  never  make  up  to 
me  for  his,  have  it  I  must  and  will/ 

c  He  was  in  such  a  great  hurry  ! '  retorted  the  Marquis. 

1  Good-bye.  Perhaps  I  could  drink  with  my  own 
executioners,  but  I  cannot  stay  here  with  my  friend's 
murderers,'  said  the  captain,  and  he  vanished,  leaving  the 
guests  to  their  amazement. 

6  Now,  then,  gentlemen,  what  have  you  to  say  about 
'the  sheriffs,  apothecaries,  and  attorneys  who  rule  the 
Republic  ? '  asked  the  Marquis  coolly. 

4  God's  death,  Marquis  ! '  replied  the  Comte  de  Bauvan; 
6  they  are  very  ill-bred,  at  all  events.  That  fellow  has 
affronted  us,  it  seems  to  me.' 

There  had  been  a  secret  motive  for  the  captain's  prompt 
retreat.  This  girl,  who  had  met  with  such  scorn  and 
humiliation,  and  who  perhaps  succumbed  at  that  very 
moment,  had,  during  the  past  scene,  shown  him  beauties 
so  difficult  to  forget  that  as  he  went  out  he  said  to 
himself, 6  If  she  does  belong  to  that  class,  she  is  no  ordinary 
girl  at  any  rate,  and  she  shall  assuredly  be  my  wife  ' 

He  despaired  so  little  of  rescuing  her  from  the  clutches 
of  these  savages,  that  his  first  thought  had  been  how  he 
would  take  her  under  his  protection  in  the  future,  having 
saved  her  life.  Unfortunately,  when  the  captain  reached 
the  flight  of  steps,  he  found  the  courtyard  deserted.  He 
looked  about  him  and  gave  ear  to  the  silence,  but  heard 
nothing  except  the  noisy  far-off  laughter  of  the  Chouans 
as  they  drank  and  divided  the  booty  in  the  gardens.  He 
ventured  to  turn  the  corner  of  the  fatal  wing  of  the 
building,  where  his  men  had  been  shot  down  ;  and  by 
the  feeble  light  of  one  or  two  candles,  he  distinguished, 
from  his  angle,  the  Chasseurs  du  Roi  broken  up  into 
different  groups.    Neither  Pille-Miche,  nor  Marche-a- 


1 8a 


The  Chouans 


Terre,  nor  the  girl  herself  was  there;  but  he  suddenly 
felt  a  pull  at  the  skirt  of  his  uniform,  and  turning  round, 
he  saw  Francine  on  her  knees. 
'  Where  is  she  ? '  he  asked. 

'  I  do  not  know.  .  .  .  Pierre  drove  me  away,  and 
ordered  me  not  to  stir.' 

'  Which  way  did  they  go  ? ' 

'That  way,'  she  answered,  pointing  to  the  causeway. 
Then,  in  the  moonlight,  the  captain  and  Francine  dis- 
cerned certain  shadows  falling  on  the  waters  of  the  lake ; 
the  slender  feminine  form  that  they  both  recognised, 
indistinct  as  it  was,  made  their  hearts  beat. 

'  Oh,  it  is  she  ! '  said  the  Breton  maid.  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  was  apparently  standing  there  resignedly,  with 
several  figures  about  her  whose  actions  indicated  a  discus- 
sion. 

'  There  are  several  of  them  ! '  the  captain  exclaimed. 
'  It  is  all  one ;  come  along.' 

'You  will  lose  your  life  to  no  purpose,'  said  Francine. 

' 1  have  lost  it  once  already  to-day,'  he  answered  gaily. 
Both  of  them  made  their  way  towards  the  gloomy  gate- 
way, on  the  other  side  of  which  this  scene  was  taking 
place.    But  Francine  stopped  half-way. 

'No,'  she  called  softly;  'I  will  go  no  further !  Pierre 
told  me  not  to  meddle.  I  know  him.  We  shall  spoil 
everything.  Do  anything  you  please,  onsieur  POfficier, 
but  keep  away.  If  Pierre  were  to  see  you  with  me,  he 
would  kill  you.' 

Pille-Miche  appeared  without  the  gate  ;  he  called  to  the 
postilion  who  had  kept  in  the  stable,  saw  the  captain,  and 
shouted  as  he  levelled  his  musket  at  him,  'Saint  Anne  of 
Auray  !  The  recteur  at  Antrain  was  quite  right  when 
he  told  us  that  the  Blues  had  signed  a  contract  with  the 
devil.  Stop  a  bit ;  I  will  show  you  how  to  come  to  life 
again  ! ' 

'  Hollo,  there !  My  life  has  been  granted  to  me, 
shouted  Merle,  seeing  himself  threatened. 


A  Notion  of  Fouches 


4  Here  is  your  chiefs  glove  ! 1 

c  Yes,'  answered  the  Chouan,  cjust  like  a  ghost,  that ! 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  do  not  grant  you  your  life.  .  .  . 
Ave  Maria!'*  and  he  fired.  The  shot  penetrated  the 
captain's  head,  he  dropped ;  and  as  Francine  came  up 
to  him  she  distinctly  heard  Merle  uttering  these  words, 
c  I  would  rather  stop  here  with  them  than  go  back  with- 
out them.' 

The  Chouan  rushed  upon  the  Blue  to  strip  the  body 
with  trie  remark,  c  There  is  one  good  thing  about  these 
men  who  come  back,  their  clothes  come  to  life  again 
along  with  them ; '  but  when  he  saw  in  the  captain's 
\hand  the  glove  of  the  Gars  that  had  been  held  up  for 
him,  he  stood  in  dismay  at  sight  of  that  sacred  token. 
1 1  would  not  be  in  the  skin  of  my  mother's  son  ! '  he 
exclaimed,  and  he  vanished  with  the  swiftness  of  a 
bird. 

In  order  to  understand  this  unexpected  meeting,  so 
fatal  for  the  captain,  it  is  necessary  to  follow  the  fortunes 
of  Mile,  de  Verneuil  after  the  Marquis,  overcome  with  his 
rage  and  despair,  had  gone  away  and  abandoned  her  to 
Pille-Miche.  Then  Francine  had  seized  Marche-a- 
Terre's  arm  in  a  spasm  of  fear,  and  with  her  eyes  full  of 
tears  had  reminded  him  of  the  promise  he  had  made  to 
her.  At  the  distance  of  a  few  paces  Pille-Miche  was 
dragging  off  his  victim,  much  as  he  might  have  trailed 
some  awkward  burden  after  him.  Marie,  with  loosened 
hair  and  bowed  head,  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  lake,  but 
she  was  held  back  by  an  iron  grip,  and  compelled  to 
follow  the  Chouan  with  lagging  steps  ;  now  and  again  he 
turned  to  give  her  a  look  or  to  hasten  her  progress,  and 
each  time  he  did  so  a  jovial  thought  was  expressed  on  his 
face  by  a  frightful  smile. 

"  c  Isn't  she  grand !  .  .     he  cried  with  uncouth  emphasis. 
Francine,  hearing  these  words,  recovered  her  power  of 
speech. 
c  Pierre!' 


i8S 


The  Chouans 


<  Well?' 

c  Is  he  going  to  kill  mademoiselle  ? ' 

4  Not  just  at  once,'  answered  Marche-a-Terre. 

c  But  she  will  resist ;  and  if  she  dies,  I  shall  die  too  ! ' 

c  Ah,  well;  you  are  too  fond  of  her;  ...  so  let  her 
die  ! '  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

cIf  we  two  are  rich  and  happy,  we  owe  our  good 
fortune  to  her;  but,  anyhow,  have  you  not  promised 
me  to  save  her  from  all  misfortune  ? ' 

6 1  will  try ;  but  stop  there,  and  don't  stir  away.' 

Marche-a-Terre's  arm  was  instantly  released,  and 
Francine,  consumed  by  the  most  terrible  anxiety,  waited 
in  the  courtyard.  Marche-a-Terre  came  up  with  his 
companion  just  as  the  latter  had  entered  the  barn  and 
forced  his  victim  to  get  into  the  coach.  Pille-Miche 
demanded  his  fellow's  aid  to  pull  the  coach  out. 

c  What  do  you  want  with  all  this  ? '  inquired  Marche- 
a-Terre. 

c  Well,  the  Grande-Garce  has  given  me  the  woman,  so 
all  she  has  belongs  to  me.' 

c  As  for  the  coach,  well  and  good,  you  will  make  some 
money  out  of  it;  but  how  about  the  woman  ?  She  will 
fly  at  your  face  like  a  cat ! ' 

Pille-Miche  burst  into  a  noisy  laugh,  and  replied, 
i ^uieny  I  shall  take  her  home  along  with  me,  and  I  shall 
tie  her  up.' 

4  All  right ;  let  us  put  the  horses  in,'  said  Marche-a- 
Terre. 

A  moment  later  Marche-a-Terre,  who  had  left  his 
companion  to  keep  watch  over  his  victim,  brought  the 
carriage  out  upon  the  causeway  outside  the  gate.  Pille- 
Miche  got  in  beside  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  without  noticing 
the  start  she  made  to  fling  herself  into  the  water. 
-  c  Hollo !  Pille-Miche  ! '  shouted  Marche-a-Terre. 

4 What  is  it?' 

c  I  will  buy  your  share  of  the  plunder  of  you.' 

'Are  you  joking?'  asked  the  Chouan,  pulling  his 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


prisoner  by  the  skirt  as  a  butcher  might  seize  a  calf  that 
was  escaping  him. 

'  Let  me  have  a  look  at  her,  and  I'll  make  you  an  offer.' 

The  unhappy  girl  was  obliged  to  descend,  and  to  stand 
there  between  the  two  Chouans,  who  each  held  one  of 
her  hands  in  his  grasp,  and  gazed  at  her  as  the  two  elders 
must  have  stared  at  the  bathing  Susannah.  Marche-a- 
Terre  heaved  a  sigh. 

'  Will  you  take  thirty  good  livres  a  year  ? 9 

'  Do  you  really  mean  it  ? ' 

'  Do  you  take  it  ? '  asked  Marche-a-Terre,  stretching 
^out  his  hand. 

'Oh,  it  is  a  bargain,  for  I  can  have  Breton  girls  with 
that,  and  grand  ones  too  !  But  how  about  the  carriage; 
who  is  to  have  that  ? '  said  Pille-Miche,  bethinking  him- 
self. 

'That  is  mine  !'  cried  Marche-a-Terre,  with  a  ring  in 
his  terrible  voice  which  indicated  a  kind  of  ascendancy 
over  all  his  companions  due  to  the  savagery  of  his  nature. 

'  But  suppose  there  should  be  money  in  the  carriage  ? 9 

'  Haven't  you  struck  a  bargain  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  I  closed  with  you.' 

'  All  right ;  go  and  look  up  the  postilion,  who  is  fixed  up 
in  the  stable.' 

'But  if  there  was  any  gold  in  it  ' 

'  Is  there  any  in  there  ? '  Marche-a-Terre  asked 
sharply  of  Marie,  while  he  shook  her  by  the  arm. 

c  I  have  a  hundred  crowns,'  replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 
At  these  words  the  two  Chouans  looked  at  each  other. 

'Well,  my  good  friend,  do  not  let  us  fall  out  about  a 
Republican  girl,'  said  Pille-Miche  in  Marche-a-Terre's 
ear;  'shall  we  chuck  her  into  the  pond  with  a  stone 
round  her  neck,  and  divide  the  hundred  crowns  between 
us  ?  ' 

'  I  will  give  you  the  hundred  crowns  out  of  my  share 
of  d'Orgemont's  ransom ! '  cried  Marche-a-Terre,  suppres- 
sing the  groan  occasioned  by  this  sacrifice. 


184 


The  Chouans 


Pille-Miche  gave  a  hoarse  kind  of  cry,  and  went  to 
find  the  postilion.  His  glee  brought  bad  luck  to  the 
captain  whom  he  met.  When  he  heard  the  report  of 
the  gun,  Marche-a-Terre  hurried  to  the  spot,  where 
Francine,  still  in  terror,  was  praying  with  clasped  hands 
upon  her  knees  beside  the  poor  captain,  so  vivid  had 
been  the  effect  upon  her  of  the  spectacle  of  the  murder. 

c  Run  to  your  mistress,'  said  the  Chouan  shortly ;  c  she 
is  safe.'  He  himself  ran  in  search  of  the  postilion,  and 
returned  with  the  speed  of  lightning.  As  he  passed  by 
Merle's  body  for  the  second  time,  he  saw  the  glove  of  the 
Gars,  which  the  dead  hand  was  still  clutching  convulsively. 

cOh,  ho!'  cried  he;  c  Pille-Miche  has  tried  foul  play 
here  !  It  is  not  so  sure  that  he  will  live  to  draw  that 
income  of  his  ' 

He  tore  away  the  glove,  and  said  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 
who  was  already  in  her  place  in  the  coach  with  Francine 
beside  her,  c  Here;  take  this  glove.  If  you  are  attacked 
on  the  road  say,  "  Oh  !  the  Gars  !  "  and  show  this  pass- 
port here,  and  no  harm  can  come  to  you.  Francine,'  he 
said,  turning  towards  her  and  seizing  her  hand,  c  we  are 
quits  now  with  the  woman  there  ;  the  devil  take  her  ; 
come  with  me.' 

c  Would  you  have  me  leave  her  just  now,  at  this 
moment  !'  Francine  answered  in  a  melancholy  voice. 
Marche-a-Terre  first  scratched  his  ear  and  then  his  fore- 
head. Then  he  raised  his  head  and  showed  his  eyes, 
with  the  fierce  expression  that  made  them  formidable. 

c  You  are  right,'  said  he.  c  For  a  week  I  will  leave 
you  with  her;  but  when  once  it  is  over,  if  you  do  not 
come  to  me  '     He  did  not  finish  the  sentence, 

but  he  struck  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle  a  heavv  blow 

j 

with  the  flat  of  his  hand,  made  a  feint  of  levelling  it  at 
his  mistress,  and  went  without  waiting  for  a  response. 

As  soon  as  the  Chouan  had  gone,  a  stifled  voice  that 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  surface  of  the  pond  cried. 
1  Madame  1  .  .  .  Madame  !  .  .  . ' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  185 

The  postilion  and  the  two  women  shuddered  with 
horror,  for  several  dead  bodies  had  drifted  thither.  A 
Blue  hiding  behind  a  tree  showed  himself.  'Let  me 
get  up  on  your  box,  or  I  am  a  dead  man  !  That  damned 
glass  of  cider  that  Clef-des-Coeurs  would  drink  has  cost 
more  than  a  pint  of  blood  !  If  he  had  followed  my 
example,  and  made  his  rounds,  our  poor  comrades  would 
not  be  floating  about  there,  like  a  fleet.' 

While  these  events  were  taking  place  without  the 
house,  the  chiefs  sent  by  the  Vendeans  were  conferring 
with  the  Chouans,  glass  in  hand,  while  the  Marquis  of 
Montauran  presided.  Ample  potations  of  Bordeaux  wine 
gave  warmth  to  the  debate,  which  grew  momentous  and 
serious  as  the  banquet  drew  to  a  close.  During  the 
dessert,  when  the  lines  of  concerted  military  action  had 
been  laid  down,  and  the  Royalists  drank  to  the  health  of 
the  Bourbons,  the  report  of  Pi  lie-Mi  che's  gun  sounded 
like  an  echo  of  the  ill-omened  war  which  these  gay  and 
noble  conspirators  were  fain  to  wage  against  the  Republic. 
Mme.  du  Gua  shook  with  the  pleasurable  agitation  which 
she  felt  at  being  rid  of  her  rival,  and  at  this  the  guests  all 
looked  at  one  another,  and  the  Marquis  rose  from  the 
table  and  went  out. 

c  After  all,  he  was  in  love  with  her,'  said  Mme  du  Gua 
satirically ;  (go  and  keep  him  company,  M.  de  Fontaine ; 
he  will  grow  as  tiresome  as  the  flies  if  he  gets  into  the  blues.' 

She  went  to  the  window  which  looked  out  upon  the 
courtyard,  to  try  to  see  Marie's  dead  body.  Thence,  by 
the  last  light  of  the  setting  moon,  she  could  make  out 
the  coach  which  was  ascending  the  avenue  between  the 
apple  trees  with  incredible  speed.  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
veil  was  fluttering  in  the  breeze  out  of  the  coach-window. 
Mme.  du  Gua  left  the  company,  enraged  at  what  she  saw. 

The  Marquis  was  lounging  on  the  flight  of  steps,  deep 
in  gloomy  thoughts,  as  he  watched  about  a  hundred  and 
fifty  Chouans  who  had  returned  from  the  gardens,  whither 
they  had  gone  to  divide  their  booty,  and  who  were  now 


i86 


The  Chouans 


about  to  finish  the  cider  and  the  bread  which  had  been 
promised  to  the  Blues.  These  soldiers  (new  pattern) 
upon  whom  the  hopes  of  the  Monarchy  were  founded 
were  drinking  together  in  little  knots ;  while  seven  or 
eight  of  their  number  were  amusing  themselves  on  the 
embankment  opposite  to  the  flight  of  steps,  by  tying 
stones  to  the  bodies  of  the  Blues  and  flinging  them  into 
the  water.  This  spectacle,  taken  in  connection  with  the 
various  pictures  presented  by  the  eccentric  costumes  and 
the  wild  faces  of  the  callous  and  uncivilised  gars,  was  so 
extraordinary  and  so  novel  to  M.  de  Fontaine  (who  had 
observed  a  certain  appearance  of  seemliness  and  discipline 
among  the  Vendean  troops),  that  he  seized  this  oppor- 
tunity to  say  to  the  Marquis  of  Montauran,  c  What  can 
you  hope  to  do  with  such  brutes  as  that  ? ' 

c  No  great  things,  you  mean,  my  dear  Count ! '  replied 
the  Gars. 

c  Will  they  ever  be  able  to  execute  manoeuvres  when 
they  are  confronted  with  the  Republicans  ? ' 
c  Never.' 

*  Will  they  ever  be  able  to  do  so  much  as  to  understand 
your  orders  and  carry  them  out  ? ' 

*  Never.' 

c  Then  what  use  will  they  be  to  you  ? ' 

c  They  will  enable  me  to  plunge  my  sword  into  the 
heart  of  the  Republic,'  thundered  the  Marquis ;  c  to  make 
Fougeres  mine  in  three  days,  and  the  length  and  breadth 
of  Brittany  in  ten  !  .  .  .  Come,  sir,'  he  continued  in  a 
milder  voice,  cset  out  for  la  Vendee;  let  Autichamp, 
Suzannet,  and  the  Abbe  Bernier  only  go  ahead  as  quickly 
as  I  shall  ;  let  them  not  open  negotiations  with  the  First 
Consul  (as  they  once  led  me  to  fear)' — here  he  gave  the 
Vendean's  hand  a  mighty  grasp — 'and  we  shall  be  within 
thirty  leagues  of  Paris  in  three  weeks.' 

'But  the  Republic  is  sending  sixty  thousand  men  and 
General  Brune  against  us  ! ' 

4  Sixty  thousand  men  !    Really  ?  '  cried  the  Marquis, 


A  Notion  of  Fouches 


i87 


with  a  satirical  smile.  c  And  with  what  men  will 
Bonaparte  carry  on  his  Italian  campaign  ?  And  as  for 
General  Brune,  he  will  not  come  either.  Bonaparte  has 
dispatched  him  against  the  English  in  Holland,  and 
General  Hedouville,  the  friend  of  our  friend  Barras,  will 
take  his  place  out  here.    Now  do  you  understand  me  ?  ' 

When  he  heard  him  talk  in  this  way,  M.  de  Fontaine 
looked  at  the  Marquis  with  an  astute  and  arch  expression 
which  seemed  to  convey  a  reproach  to  the  speaker  for  not 
fully  understanding  the  drift  of  the  mysterious  words 
which  he  had  just  uttered.  Both  gentlemen  understood 
each  other  perfectly  well  from  that  moment,  yet  the 
young  chief  replied  with  an  indefinable  smile  to  the 
unspoken  thought  in  the  eyes  of  both. 

CM.  de  Fontaine,  do  you  know  my  arms  ?  My  device 
is — "  Per  severer  jusqifa  la  mort."  9 

The  Comte  de  Fontaine  grasped  Montauran's  hand  and 
pressed  it  as  he  said,  c  I  was  left  for  dead  on  the  field  at 
Quatre-Chemins,  so  you  will  have  no  misgivings  about 
me ;  but  believe  my  experience — times  are  changed.' 

c  Oh  !  yes,'  said  La  Billardiere,  who  joined  them. 
'You  are  young,  Marquis.  Just  listen  to  me.  Your 
estates  have  not  all  been  sold  ' 

c  Ah  !  can  you  imagine  devotion  without  a  sacrifice  ! ' 
said  Montauran. 

Do  you  really  know  the  King  ?  '  said  La  Billardiere. 

<  Yes.' 
1    4  Then  I  admire  you.' 

4  The  King,'  said  the  young  chief,  4  is  the  Priest,  and  I 
am  fighting  for  the  faith.' 

And  so  they  separated.  The  Vendean,  convinced  of 
the  necessity  of  a  resignation  to  the  course  of  events,  and 
of  keeping  his  faith  in  his  own  heart ;  La  Billardiere  to 
go  back  to  England  again ;  and  Montauran  to  fight 
desperately,  and  to  force  the  Vendeans  to  co-operate  with 
him  by  means  of  the  victories  of  which  he  dreamed. 

These  events  had  stirred  up  so  many  emotions  in  the 


i88 


The  Chouans 


soul  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  that  she  lay  back  in  the  carriage 
utterly  prostrated  and  as  if  dead,  when  she  had  given  the 
order  to  proceed  to  Fougeres.  Francine  was  silent,  follow- 
ing the  example  of  her  mistress.  The  postilion,  who  was 
in  terror  of  some  fresh  misadventure,  made  haste  to  reach 
the  high  road,  and  very  soon  reached  the  top  of  La  Pelerine. 

In  the  dense,  white  morning  mists,  Marie  de  Verneuil 
made  her  way  across  the  wide  and  beautiful  valley  of  the 
Couesnon,  where  this  story  began.  From  the  summit 
of  La  Pelerine  she  could  hardly  see  the  schistous  rock 
upon  which  the  town  of  Fougeres  is  built,  and  from 
which  the  three  travellers  were  still  some  two  leagues 
distant.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  felt  chilled  through  with  the 
cold,  and  thought  of  the  poor  infantryman  perched  up 
behind  the  carriage,  insisting  in  spite  of  his  refusals  that 
he  should  come  in  and  sit  beside  Francine.  The  sight 
of  Fougeres  drew  her  for  a  moment  from  her  reverie. 
Moreover,  as  the  guard  stationed  at  the  St.  Leonard  gate 
refused  admittance  into  the  town  to  strangers,  she  was 
compelled  to  produce  her  credentials.  Then  she  found 
herself  protected  at  last  from  all  hostile  attempts  as  she 
came  into  this  place,  with  its  own  townspeople  for  its 
sole  defenders  at  the  moment.  The  postilion  could  find 
no  better  sheltering  roof  for  her  than  at  the  Post  inn. 

'  Madame,'  said  the  Blue,  whom  she  had  rescued,  c  if 
you  should  ever  require  to  administer  a  sabre  cut  to  any 
individual,  my  life  is  at  your  service.  I  am  good  at  that. 
My  name  is  Jean  Falcon  ;  I  am  called  Beau-Pied ;  and  I 
am  a  sergeant  in  the  first  company  of  Hulot's  lads  in  the 
seventy-second  demi-brigade,  which  they  call  the  Mayen- 
£aise.  Excuse  my  vanity  and  presumption  ;  but  I  can  do 
no  more  than  offer  you  the  life  of  a  sergeant,  because  for 
the  time  being  I  have  nothing  else  to  put  at  your  disposal.' 
He  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  away  whistling. 
—  *  The  lower  one  looks  in  the  ranks  of  society,'  said 
Marie  with  bitterness,  4  the  more  one  finds  generosity  of 
feeling  without  any  parade  of  it.    A  marquis  gives  me 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


up  to  death  in  return  for  life,  while  a  sergeant  •  .  .  But 
there,  let  that  be  ! ' 

When  the  beautiful  Parisian  lay  in  a  well-warmed  bed, 
her  faithful  Francine  hung  about,  waiting  in  vain  for  the 
affectionate  word  that  she  was  accustomed  to  hear ;  but 
her  mistress  saw  her  still  standing  there  uneasily,  and  said 
with  every  mark  of  sadness — 

4  They  call  this  a  day,  Francine,  but  I  am  ten  years 
older  for  it.' 

The  next  morning,  as  she  was  getting  up,  Corentin 
presented  himself  to  call  upon  Marie,  who  gave  him 
admittance. 

4  Francine,'  she  remarked, c  my  misfortune  must  be  great 
indeed  when  I  can  tolerate  the  sight  of  Corentin.' 

But  for  all  that,  when  she  saw  him  again,  she  in- 
stinctively felt  for  the  thousandth  time  towards  the  man 
a  repugnance  that  an  acquaintance  of  two  years'  standing 
had  mitigated  no  whit. 

c  Well,'  said  he,  smiling  ;  c  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
succeed.    Was  it  not  he  then  whom  you  got  hold  of  ?  ' 

4  Corentin,'  she  answered  slowly,  with  a  sorrowful 
expression,  4  do  not  mention  that  affair  to  me  unless  I 
myself  speak  to  you  of  it.' 

He  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  room,  attempting  to  divine 
*~the  secret  thoughts  of  this  strange  girl,  in  whose  glance 
there  was  a  something  which  at  times  had  power  enough 
to  disconcert  the  cleverest  men. 
,  4 1  foresaw  this  check,'  he  began,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  4  I  have  been  making  inquiries,  in  case  you  might 
care  to  make  this  town  your  headquarters.  We  are  in 
the  very  heart  and  centre  of  Chouannerie.  Will  you 
stay  here  ? '  The  nod  vouchsafed  to  him  by  way  of  a  reply 
gave  rise  to  conjectures  as  to  yesterday's  events  on 
Corentin's  part,  which  were  partially  correct.  4 1  have 
taken  a  house  for  you,'  he  went  on ;  c  one  confiscated  by 
the  Nation,  and  as  yet  unsold.  They  are  not  very 
advanced  in  their  notions  hereabouts.    Nobody  has  dared 


190 


The  Chouans 


to  buy  the  place,  because  the  emigrant  to  whom  it  belonged 
is  thought  to  be  an  awkward  customer.  It  is  close  to 
St.  Leonard's  church,  and,  upon  my  honour,  one  enjoys 
a  charming  view  from  the  windows.  Something  can 
be  made  of  the  hole  ;  it  is  habitable  ;  will  you  go 
into  it  ? ' 

4  Yes,  at  once,'  she  exclaimed. 

c  But  you  must  let  me  have  a  few  hours  in  which  to 
get  it  cleaned  and  set  to  rights,  so  that  you  may  find 
everything  to  your  mind.' 

c  What  does  it  matter  ? '  she  said.  c  I  should  make  no 
difficulty  about  living  in  a  convent  or  in  a  jail.  How- 
ever, you  can  arrange  things  so  that  I  can  be  left  to  rest 
in  absolute  solitude  this  evening.  There,  you  can  leave 
me  !  Your  presence  is  intolerable.  I  wish  to  be 
left  alone  with  Francine.  I  am  on  better  terms  with  her 
perhaps  than  with  myself.  .  .  .  There,  good-bye ;  go 
away  !  ' 

It  was  evident  from  the  words  thus  volubly  uttered, 
and  imbued  by  turns  with  coquetry,  wilfulness,  and  passion, 
that  her  serenity  was  completely  restored.  Slumber  no 
doubt  had  gradually  dispelled  the  impressions  of  the 
previous  day,  and  reflection  had  brought  her  counsels  of 
revenge.  If  dark  thoughts  at  times  were  depicted  upon  her 
face,  they  seemed  to  bear  witness  to  the  power  possessed 
by  some  women  of  burying  their  most  enthusiastic  feel- 
ings in  the  depths  of  their  souls,  and  of  that  capacity  for 
dissimulation  which  enables  them  to  smile  graciously 
while  they  scheme  out  the  ruin  of  their  victim. 

She  sat  alone,  absorbed  in  plans  for  getting  the  Marquis 
into  her  hands  alive.  For  the  first  time  she  had  known 
a  life  in  accordance  with  her  inmost  wishes ;  but  of  that 
life  nothing  remained  to  her  now  but  the  longing  for 
revenge — a  revenge  that  should  be  absolute  and  unending. 
This  was  her  sole  thought,  her  one  passionate  desire. 
Francine's  words  and  little  services  drew  no  response  from 
Marie,  who  seemed  to  be  sleeping  with  her  eyes  open  ; 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


the  live-long  day  went  by,  and  there  was  no  outward 
sign  or  movement  of  the  life  which  is  the  expression  of 
our  thoughts.  She  lay  reclined  on  a  kind  of  ottoman 
which  she  had  made  with  chairs  and  pillows,  and  not  till 
evening  came  did  she  languidly  let  fall  these  words  and 
no  more,  with  her  eyes  upon  Francine — 4  Yesterday,  my 
child,  I  saw  clearly  how  one  can  live  for  love's  sole  sake ; 
to-day  I  have  come  to  understand  how  one  can  die  to 
have  revenge.  Yes  !  I  would  give  my  life  to  find  him 
out,  wherever  he  may  be,  to  come  across  him  once  more, 
to  entangle  him,  and  to  have  him  in  my  power.  .  .  . 
But  if,  after  a  few  days,  I  do  not  find  this  man  who  has 
slighted  me  lying  humble  and  submissive  at  my  feet ;  if  I 
do  not  reduce  him  to  an  abject  servitude,  why,  then,  I 
shall  be  beneath  contempt,  and  I  shall  be  no  more  a 
woman — I  shall  be  no  longer  myself!' 

The  house  which  Corentin  had  proposed  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  was  well  adapted  to  gratify  her  innate  love  of 
refinement  and  luxury  in  her  surroundings.  He  himself 
appeared  to  have  accumulated  there  everything  which  in 
his  opinion  ought  to  please  her,  with  a  lover's  eagerness,  or 
more  properly  speaking,  with  the  anxious  servility  of  a  man 
in  power  seeking  to  attach  to  his  own  interest  some 
inferior  who  is  necessary  to  him.  He  came  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  the  next  day  to  suggest  a  removal  to  this  im- 
provised dwelling-place.  She  scarcely  did  more  than 
transfer  herself  from  her  rickety  ottoman  to  a  venerable 
sofa  which  Corentin  had  managed  to  find  for  her ;  but 
]  the  fanciful  Parisian  entered  into  residence  as  if  the  house 
had  belonged  to  her.  She  treated  everything  she  saw 
with  supreme  indifference,  and  developed  a  sudden  affinity 
with  the  oddments,  which  by  degrees  she  appropriated  to 
her  own  use,  as  if  they  had  long  been  familiar  to  her. 
These  are  trifling  details,  but  not  without  significance  in 
the  portraiture  of  an  unusual  character.  She  might  have 
become  well  acquainted  with  this  dwelling  in  her  dreams 
or  ever  she  saw  the  place ;  and  here  she  lived  upon  the 


192 


The  Chouans 


hatred  within  her,  just  as  she  would  have  existed  upon 
love. 

4  At  any  rate/  she  said  to  herself,  4 1  have  not  inspired 
in  him  that  insulting  kind  of  pity  which  is  death ;  I  do 
not  owe  my  life  to  him.  Oh,  my  first  and  last  and  only 
love  !    What  an  outcome  of  it  all ! ' 

She  made  a  spring  at  the  startled  Francine.  4  Do 
you  love  too  ?  Oh,  yes  !  I  remember,  you  are  in  love  ! 
How  very  fortunate  I  am  to  have  a  woman  beside  me 
who  can  understand  !  Well,  my  poor  Francine,  do  not 
men  seem  to  you  to  be  horrible  creatures  ?  Why,  he  told 
me  that  he  loved  me !  And  he  could  not  stand  the 
slightest  test  ,  .  .  Yet  if  the  whole  world  had  spurned 
him,  he  should  have  found  a  refuge  in  my  heart ;  if  the 
whole  universe  had  been  against  him,  I  would  have  stood 
by  him.  Once,  I  used  to  watch  a  world  filled  with 
beings  who  came  and  went ;  they  were  only  indifferent 
things  for  me,  but  that  world  of  mine  was  only  melan- 
choly, not  dreadful ;  and  now,  what  is  it  all  without  him  ? 
He  will  go  on  living  though  I  am  not  there  at  his  side, 
though  I  do  not  speak  to  him,  nor  touch  him,  nor  hold 
him  and  clasp  him  close.  .  .  .  Oh,  rather  than  that,  I 
will  murder  him  myself  as  he  sleeps  ! 9 

Francine  looked  at  her  in  alarm  for  a  moment  without 
speaking  ;  then  she  said  in  a  gentle  voice,  4  Murder  the 
man  that  you  love  ? ' 

4  Ah  !  surely,  when  he  loves  you  no  longer.'  But 
after  these  fearful  words,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
sank  into  her  chair,  and  was  mute. 

The  next  day  some  one  broke  suddenly  into  her  room 
without  being  announced.  It  was  Hulot ;  his  face  was 
hard  and  stern,  and  Corentin  came  with  him.  She  raised 
her  eyes  and  trembled. 

4  You  are  come  to  require  an  account  of  your  friends 
from  me  ?  '  she  said.    4  They  are  dead.' 

4 1  know  it,'  answered  Hulot.  4  They  did  not  die  in 
the  service  of  the  Republic' 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's  193 

*  For  me,  and  it  was  my  doing.  •  .  .  You  are  about  to 
speak  to  me  of  our  country  !  Will  our  country  give 
back  life  to  those  who  die  for  her  ?  Will  she  so  much  as 
avenge  them  ?    Now,  If  she  cried,  i  will  avenge  them  ! ' 

Baleful  visions  of  the  tragedy  in  which  she  had  nearly 
fallen  a  victim  rose  up  and  formed  themselves  before  her 
eyes ;  a  mad  impulse  seized  this  gracious  being,  who  held 
modesty  to  be  a  woman's  first  artifice,  and  she  marched 
^abruptly  over  to  the  amazed  commandant. 

c  For  a  few  murdered  soldiers,'  she  said,  c  I  will  bring  a 
head  worth  thousands  of  others  beneath  the  axe  upon  your 
scaffold.  Women  carry  on  war  but  seldom,  yet  you, 
however  old  you  may  be,  may  pick  up  excellent  strata- 
gems in  my  school.  I  will  give  over  to  your  bayonets  in 
him  a  whole  family,  his  ancestors,  his  present,  past,  and 
future.  Insomuch  as  I  have  been  kind  and  true  to  him, 
so  I  will  be  crafty  and  false  !  Yes,  commandant !  I 
mean  to  bring  this  gallant  gentleman  home  to  me ;  he 
shall  only  leave  my  arms  to  go  to  his  death  !  Yes  !  I 
shall  never  know  a  rival.  The  wretch  pronounced  his 
own  death  sentence  :  a  A  day  without  a  morrow  !  "  .  .  . 
We  shall  both  of  us  be  avenged,  your  Republic  and  I 
.  .  .  The  Republic  ! '  she  went  on,  with  a  strange  in- 
flection in  her  voice  that  startled  Hulot ;  c  so  the  rebel 
will  die,  after- all,  for  bearing  arms  against  his  country  ? 
France  herself  will  cheat  me  of  my  revenge  ?  .  .  .  Ah  ! 
one  life  is  such  a  little  thing — one  death  can  only  atone  for 
a  single  crime  !  But  since  this  gentleman  has  but  one 
head  to  lose,  in  the  night  before  he  dies  I  will  make  him 
'  feel  that  he  is  losing  more  than  a  life.  But  before  all 
things,  commandant,  for  it  will  be  you  who  will  put  him 
to  death,'  and  a  sigh  broke  from  her,  c  act  in  such  a  sort 
that  nothing  shall  betray  my  treason  ;  let  him  die  with  a 
full  belief  in  my  faith.  That  is  all  that  I  ask  of  you. 
Let  him  see  nothing  but  me— me  and  my  endearments  ! ' 

With  that  she  stopped  ;  but  in  the  dark  flush  on  her 
face  Hulot  and  Corentin  saw  that  anger  and  rage  had 

N 


194 


The  Chouans 


not  extinguished  modesty.  Marie  shuddered  violently  as 
she  uttered  these  last  words ;  she  seemed  to  listen  for 
them  afresh,  as  if  she  were  not  sure  that  she  had  spoken 
them.  She  trembled  undisguisedly,  and  made  the  in- 
voluntary gesture  of  a  woman  who  has  suddenly  dropped 
her  veil. 

c  But  you  have  had  him  already  in  your  hands  ! '  said 
Gorentin. 

c  Very  likely,'  she  replied  bitterly. 

c  Why  did  you  stop  me  when  I  had  hold  of  him  ? ' 
asked  Hulot. 

4  Eh,  commandant !  We  did  not  know  that  it  was 
he  ! '  Suddenly,  the  excited  woman  who  was  hurriedly 
pacing  to  and  fro,  flinging  fiery  glances  at  the  two  wit- 
nesses of  this  tempest,  grew  calmer.  6 1  hardly  know 
myself,'  she  said,  and  her  tones  were  those  of  a  man. 
t  What  is  the  good  of  talking  ?  We  must  go  in  search 
of  him!' 

c  Go  in  search  of  him  ? '  repeated  Hulot ;  c  my  dear 
child,  mind  that  you  do  not.  We  are  not  masters  of  this 
country-side ;  and  if  you  venture  to  stir  a  hundred  paces 
out  of  the  town,  you  will  either  be  killed  or  taken 
prisoner.' 

4  There  is  no  such  thing  as  danger  for  those  who  are 
seeking  for  vengeance  ! '  she  answered,  and  with  a  dis- 
dainful gesture  she  dismissed  the  two  men  from  her  pre- 
sence ;  the  sight  of  them  filled  her  with  shame. 

c  What  a  woman  ! '  Hulot  exclaimed  as  he  withdrew 
with  Corentin.  4  What  a  notion  those  police  fellows  in 
Paris  have  had  !  But  she  will  never  give  him  up  to  us,' 
he  added  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

c  Oh,  yes,  she  will  ! '  Corentin  replied. 

c  Can  you  not  see  that  she  is  in  love  with  him  ? '  said 
Hulot. 

'That  is  exactly  the  reason.  Moreover,'  said  Corentin, 
as  he  looked  at  the  astonished  commandant,  *  I  am  on  the 
spot  to  prevent  any  nonsense  on  her  part;  for  to  my 


A  Notion  of  Fouche's 


'95 


thinking,  comrade,  there  is  no  love  affair  worth  three 
hundred  thousand  francs.' 

With  that,  this  diplomatist  of  the  Home  Office  left 
the  soldier,  who  followed  him  with  his  eyes ;  and,  when 
he  no  longer  heard  the  sound  of  the  other's  footsteps, 
he  heaved  a  sigh  and  remarked  to  himself :  c  So  there  is 
some  advantage  at  times  in  being  a  mere  thick-head  like 
me  ?  .  .  .  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  t  If  I  hit  upon  the  Gars, 
we  will  fight  it  out  man  to  man,  or  my  name  is  not 
Hulot;  for  now  that  they  have  instituted  councils  of  war, 
if  yonder  fox  is  anything  to  go  by,  my  conscience  will  be 
no  cleaner,  I  should  say,  than  any  trooper's  shirt  who  has 
gone  under  fire  for  the  first  time.' 

The  massacre  at  the  Vivetiere  and  the  desire  to  avenge 
his  two  friends  had  been  quite  as  strong  inducements  to 
resume  the  command  of  his  demi-brigade  as  the  letter 
Hulot  had  received  from  the  new  minister  Berthier, 
who  informed  him  that  under  the  circumstances  his 
resignation  could  not  be  accepted.  Along  with  the 
official  dispatch  came  a  confidential  letter,  containing  no 
information  concerning  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  mission,  but 
informing  him  that  this  incident  was  completely  without 
the  scope  of  military  operations,  and  should  therefore  in 
no  way  hamper  their  progress.  The  share  of  the  military 
leaders  in  that  matter  was  confined,  so  it  ran,  c  to  second- 
ing the  honourable  citoyenne  if  occasion  should  call  for 
it.' 

The  reports  which  Hulot  received  having  made  it  clear 
to  him  that  the  mobilisation  of  the  Chouans  was  being 
directed  upon  Fougeres,  he  threw  two  battalions  of  his 
demi-brigade  into  that  important  place,  bringing  them  by 
forced  marches  and  hidden  ways.  Everything  about 
him  had  wrought  to  bring  back  all  the  fire  of  his  youth 
into  the  veteran  commandant — the  perils  of  his  country, 
a  hatred  of  the  aristocracy  whose  partisans  were  threaten- 
ing such  a  considerable  district,  and  the  promptings  of 
friendship. 


The  Chouans 


*  This,  at  last,  is  the  life  I  was  longing  for ! 9  cried 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  when  she  was  alone  with  Francine. 
1  However  swiftly  the  hours  may  pass,  they  are  like  cen- 
turies of  thought  to  me.'  She  took  Francine's  hand 
impulsively,  and  these  words  fell  from  her,  one  by  one,  in 
a  voice  like  the  first  robin's  notes  after  a  storm.  CI 
cannot  help  it,  my  child.  I  always  see  those  two  exquisite 
lips ;  the  short,  slightly  prominent  chin,  and  those  eyes 
of  fire  -y  I  hear  again  the  "  Hue  !  "  of  the  postilion,  and  at 
last  I  fall  to  dreaming.  .  .  .  And  why  is  there  such 
hatred  in  me  when  I  awake  ? ' 

She  heaved  a  long  sigh,  and  rose  to  her  feet.  She 
looked  out  for  the  first  time  over  the  country,  which  had 
been  given  over  to  civil  war  by  the  cruel  noble  whom  she 
would  fain  combat — she  and  no  other.  The  view  had  an 
attraction  for  her ;  it  drew  her  out  of  doors  to  breathe 
more  freely  under  the  open  sky ;  and  if  it  was  chance 
that  determined  her  way,  she  was  certainly  under  the 
influence  of  the  dark  power  within  us,  which  makes  us 
look  for  a  gleam  of  hope  in  some  absurd  course.  Ideas 
that  occur  to  us  while  we  are  under  this  spell  are  often 
realised ;  and  then  we  attribute  our  instinctive  insight  to 
the  faculty  that  we  call  presentiment — a  power  which  is 
real,  if  unexplained,  and  which  is  ever  ready  at  the  beck 
and  call  of  the  passions,  like  a  parasite  who  sometimes 
utters  a  true  word  among  his  lies. 


Ill 


A  DAY  WITHOUT  A  MORROW 

As  the  final  events  of  this  story  were  largely  determined 
by  the  character  of  the  country  in  which  they  took  place, 
a  detailed  description  of  it  is  unavoidable,  for  otherwise 
the  catastrophe  will  be  difficult  to  understand. 

The  town  of  Fougeres  is  partly  situated  on  a  mass  of 
schistous  rock  that  might  have  fallen  forward  from  the 
hills  that  close  round  the  western  end  of  the  wide  valley 
of  the  Couesnon,  each  of  which  is  differently  named  in 
different  places  round  about.  A  narrow  ravine,  with  the 
little  stream  called  the  Nan^on  running  at  the  bottom  of 
it,  separates  the  town  from  these  hills.  The  eastern  side 
of  the  mass  of  rock  commands  a  view  of  the  same  land- 
scape that  the  traveller  enjoys  from  the  top  of  La  Pelerine ; 
the  only  prospect^from  the  western  side  is  along  the 
tortuous  valley  of  the  Nan^on ;  but  there  is  one  spot 
whence  it  is  possible  to  see  a  segment  of  the  great  circle 
formed  by  the  main  valley  as  well  as  the  picturesque 
windings  of  the  smaller  one  that  opens  out  into  it.  Here 
the  townspeople  had  elected  to  make  a  promenade,  hither 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  betaking  herself,  and  this  very 
place  was  to  be  the  stage  on  which  the  drama  begun 
at  the  Vivetiere  was  to  be  carried  out.  However 
picturesque,  therefore,  the  other  parts  of  the  town  of 
Fougeres  may  be,  attention  must  be  exclusively  directed 
to  the  disposition  of  the  country  that  is  visible  from  the 
highest  point  of  the  promenade. 

To  give  an  idea  of  the  appearance  of  the  rock  of 
Fougeres  when  seen  from  this  side,  a  comparison  might 
be  made  between  it  and  one  of  those  huge  towers,  about 

197 


The  Chouans 


which  Saracen  architects  have  fashioned  tier  after  tier  of 
balconies,  connected  each  with  each  by  spiral  staircases. 
The  topmost  point  of  the  rock  terminates  in  a  Gothic 
church  with  its  crockets,  spire  and  buttresses,  which  com- 
pletes the  almost  perfect  sugar-loaf  form  of  the  whole. 
Before  the  door  of  this  church,  which  is  dedicated  to  St. 
Leonard,  lies  a  little  irregularly  shaped  square.  The  soil 
there  is  banked  up  and  sustained  by  a  wall  that  runs 
round  it  like  a  balustrade,  and  it  communicates  with  the 
promenade  by  a  flight  of  steps.  This  esplanade  runs 
round  about  the  rock  like  a  second  cornice,  several  fathoms 
below  the  square  of  St.  Leonard,  presenting  an  open  space 
planted  with  trees,  which  is  brought  to  an  end  by  the 
fortifications  of  the  town.  Then,  after  a  further  interval 
of  some  ten  fathoms  of  rocks  and  masonry  which  support 
this  terrace  (thanks,  partly  to  the  fortunate  disposition  ot 
the  schist,  and  partly  to  patient  industry),  there  lies  a 
winding  road  called  c  The  Queen's  Staircase,'  cut  out  of 
the  rock  itself,  and  leading  to  a  bridge  built  over  the 
Nan^on  by  Anne  of  Brittany.  Underneath  this  road 
again,  which  makes  a  third  cornice,  the  gardens  slope  in 
terraces  down  to  the  river,  looking  like  tiers  of  staging 
covered  with  flowers. 

Lofty  crags,  called  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice,  after  the 
name  of  the  suburb  of  the  town  in  which  they  rise,  run 
parallel  with  the  promenade  and  along  the  river  side. 
Their  sides  slope  gently  down  into  the  main  valley, 
wherein  they  take  a  sharp  turn  towards  the  north.  These 
steep,  dark,  and  barren  crags  seem  almost  to  touch  the  schist- 
ous rock  of  the  promenade,  coming  in  some  places  within 
a  gunshot  of  them,  and  they  shelter  from  the  north  wind  a 
narrow  valley  some  hundred  fathoms  in  depth,  wherein  the 
Nan^on  divides  itself  into  three  streams,  and  waters  a 
meadow-land  pleasantly  laid  out  and  filled  with  houses. 

To  the  south,  just  where  the  town,  properly  speaking, 
comes  to  an  end,  and  the  suburb  of  St.  Leonard  begins, 
the  rock  of  Fougeres  makes  a  curve,  grows  less  lofty  and 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  199 

precipitous,  turns  into  the  main  valley  and  stretches  along 
the  river,  which  is  thus  shut  in  between  it  and  the  hills  of 
St.  Sulpice  in  a  narrow  pass.  Thence  the  river  flows  in 
two  streams  towards  the  Couesnon  into  which  it  falls. 
This  picturesque  range  of  rocky  hillsides  is  named  the 
Nid-aux-Crocs.  The  dale  which  is  shut  in  by  them  is 
called  the  valley  of  Gibarry,  and  its  rich  meadows  produce 
a  large  proportion  of  the  butter  known  to  epicures  as 
Prevalaye  butter. 

At  the  spot  where  the  promenade  abuts  upon  the 
fortifications,  a  tower  rises  called  the  Papegaut's  Tower. 
The  house  in  which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  staying  was 
built  upon  this  square  structure.  Beyond  this  point  there 
is  nothing  but  a  sheer  space,  sometimes  of  wall,  sometimes 
of  rock,  wherever  the  latter  presents  a  smooth  surface. 
The  portion  of  the  town  that  is  built  upon  this  lofty  and 
impregnable  base  describes  an  immense  half-moon,  at 
the  termination  of  which  the  rocks  slope  away  and  are 
hollowed  out  so  as  to  give  an  outlet  to  the  Nan^on. 
Here  stands  the  gate  of  St.  Sulpice,  through  which  the 
way  lies  into  the  suburb  that  bears  the  same  name.  On 
a  knoll  of  granite  rock,  commanding  the  entrance  intG 
three  valleys  wherein  several  roads  converge,  rise  the 
ancient  crenellated  turrets  of  the  feudal  castle  of  Fougeres, 
one  of  the  most  considerable  structures  erected  by  the 
Dukes  of  Britanny,  with  its  walls  fifteen  fathoms  high 
and  fifteen  feet  thick.  On  its  eastern  side  the  castle  is 
protected  by  a  pond  in  which  the  Nan^on  rises,  flowing 
thence  through  the  moats,  and  turning  several  mills 
between  the  gate  of  St.  Sulpice  and  the  drawbridges  of 
the  fortress.  On  the  western  side  the  perpendicular 
rocks  on  which  the  castle  is  built  form  a  sufficient 
defence. 

Thus,  from  the  promenade  to  this  magnificent  relic  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  adorned  with  its  mantling  ivy  and  its 
turrets  round  or  square,  in  any  one  of  which  a  whole 
regiment  might  be  quartered ;  the  castle,  the  town,  and 


200 


The  Chouans 


its  rock  protected  by  a  curtain  of  wall,  or  by  scarps  hewn 
in  the  rock  itself,  form  one  immense  horse-shoe,  sur- 
rounded by  precipices,  on  the  sides  of  which  (time  aiding 
them)  the  Bretons  have  beaten  out  a  few  narrow  foot- 
paths. Blocks  of  stone  project  here  and  there  as  if  by 
way  of  decoration,  or  water  oozes  out  through  crannies 
where  spindling  trees  are  growing.  Further  on,  a  few 
less  precipitous  slabs  of  granite  support  a  little  grass 
which  attracts  the  goats ;  and  the  heather  grows  every- 
where, penetrating  many  a  damp  crevice  and  covering  the 
dark  broken  surface  with  its  rosy  wreaths.  In  the  depth 
of  this  great  funnel  the  little  river  twists  and  winds  in  a 
land  of  meadow,  always  carpeted  with  soft  verdure. 

At  the  foot  of  the  castle  there  rises,  between  several 
masses  of  granite,  the  Church  dedicated  to  St.  Sulpice, 
which  gives  its  name  to  a  suburb  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Nan f  on.  This  suburb  seems  to  lie  in  the  bottom  of  an 
abyss  ;  the  pointed  steeple  of  its  church  is  not  as  high  as 
the  rocks  that  seem  ready  to  fall  down  upon  it  and  its 
surrounding  cottages,  which  are  picturesquely  watered  by 
certain  branches  of  the  Nan^on,  shaded  by  trees  and 
adorned  with  gardens.  These  make  an  irregular  indenta- 
tion in  the  half-moon  described  by  the  promenade,  the 
town,  and  the  castle  ;  and  their  details  are  in  quaint 
contrast  to  the  sober-looking  amphitheatre  which  they 
confront.  The  whole  town  of  Fougeres,  with  its  churches 
and  its  suburbs,  and  even  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice,  has  for 
its  frame  and  setting  the  heights  of  Rille,  which  form  a 
part  of  the  chain  of  hills  that  encircle  the  main  valley  of 
the  Couesnon. 

Such  are  the  most  striking  natural  features  of  this 
country.  Its  principal  characteristic  is  a  rugged  wild- 
ness,  softened  by  intervals  of  smiling  land,  by  a  happy 
mingling  of  the  most  magnificent  works  of  man  with 
the  caprices  of  a  soil  vexed  by  unlooked-for  contrasts ;  by 
an  indescribable  something  that  takes  us  at  unawares,  that 
amazes  and  overawes  us.     In  no  other  part  of  France 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  201 


does  the  traveller  meet  with  contrasts  on  so  magnificent 
a  scale  as  in  this  wide  valley  of  the  Couesnon  and  among 
the  dales  that  are  almost  hidden  between  the  craggy  rocks 
of  Fougeres  and  the  heights  of  Rille.  There  is  beauty  of 
a  rare  kind  in  which  chance  is  the  predominating  element, 
but  which,  for  all  that,  lacks  no  charm  due  to  the 
harmony  of  nature.  Here  are  clear,  limpid,  rushing 
streams ;  hills  clad  in  the  luxuriant  vegetation  of  these 
districts ;  stern  masses  of  rock  and  shapely  buildings  ; 
natural  fortifications  and  towers  of  granite  built  by  man. 
Here  are  all  the  effects  wrought  by  the  play  of  light  and 
shadow,  all  the  varied  hues  of  different  kinds  of  foliage 
so  highly  valued  by  artists ;  groups  of  houses  alive 
with  a  busy  population,  and  solitary  places  where  the 
granite  scarcely  affords  a  hold  to  the  pale  lichens  that 
cling  about  stone  surfaces  ;  here,  in  short,  is  every 
suggestion  of  beauty  or  of  dread  that  can  be  looked  for 
from  a  landscape — a  poetry  full  of  constantly  renewed 
magic,  of  pictures  of  the  grandest  kind,  and  charming 
scenes  of  country  life.    Here  is  Brittany  in  its  flower. 

The  Papegaut's  Tower,  as  it  is  called,  upon  which  the 
house  occupied  by  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  built,  has  its 
foundations  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  precipice,  and  rises 
to  the  level  of  the  esplanade  which  has  been  constructed, 
cornice  fashion,  in  front  of  St.  Leonard's  church.  The 
view  from  this  house,  which  is  isolated  on  three  of  its  sides, 
includes  the  great  horse-shoe  (which  has  its  starting-point 
in  the  tower  itself),  the  winding  valley  of  the  Nan^on, 
and  the  square  of  St.  Leonard.  The  dwelling  is  one  of  a 
row  of  houses  three  centuries  old,  built  of  wood,  and  lying 
in  a  parallel  line  with  the  north  side  of  the  church  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  form  a  blind  alley  with  it.  The  alley 
opens  on  to  a  steep  road  that  passes  along  one  side  of  the 
church  and  leads  to  the  gate  of  St.  Leonard,  towards 
which  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  descending. 
—  Marie  naturally  felt  no  inclination  to  go  up  into  the 
square  before  the  church,  beneath  which  she  was  standing, 


202 


The  Chouans 


so  she  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  promenade.  When 
she  had  passed  through  the  little  green-painted  barrier, 
which  stood  before  the  guardhouse  now  established  in 
the  tower  of  St.  Leonard's  gate,  the  conflict  within  her 
was  stilled  by  the  sight  of  the  wonderful  view.  She  first 
admired  the  wide  stretch  of  the  main  valley  of  the 
Couesnon — the  whole  length  and  breadth  of  it  met  her 
eyes,  from  the  summit  of  La  Pelerine  to  the  level  plain, 
through  which  the  road  runs  to  Vitre.  Then  her  gaze 
rested  upon  the  Nid-aux-Crocs,  upon  the  winding  lines 
of  the  valley  of  Gibarry,  and  upon  the  ridges  of  the  hills, 
bathed  as  they  were  in  the  glow  of  the  misty  sunset. 
The  depth  of  the  valley  of  the  Nan^on  almost  startled  her  ; 
the  tallest  poplars  down  below  scarcely  reached  the 
height  of  the  garden  walls  that  lay  beneath  the  Queen's 
Staircase.  On  she  went,  one  marvel  still  succeeding  to 
another,  till  she  reached  a  point  whence  she  could  see  the 
main  valley  beyond  the  dale  of  Gibarry,  and  the  whole 
lovely  landscape  was  framed  by  the  horse-shoe  of  the  town, 
the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  the  heights  of  Rille. 

At  that  hour  of  day,  the  smoke,  rising  from  the  houses 
in  the  suburbs  and  the  valleys,  made  wreaths  of  cloud  in 
the  atmosphere ;  every  object  dawned  on  the  sight 
through  a  sort  of  bluish  canopy.  The  garish  daylight 
hues  had  begun  to  fade,  the  tone  of  the  sky  changed  to  a 
pearly  gray,  the  moon  flung  its  misty  light  over  the 
depths  of  the  fair  land  below, — all  the  surroundings  tended 
to  steep  the  soul  in  musings  and  to  call  memories  of 
beloved  forms. 

Suddenly  she  lost  all  interest  in  the  shingle  roofs  of  the 
suburb  of  St.  Sulpice,  in  its  church  with  the  bold  spire 
that  was  all  but  swallowed  up  in  the  depths  of  the  valley, 
in  the  ivy  and  clematis  that  had  gown  for  centuries  over 
the  walls  of  the  old  fortress,  whence  the  Nan^on  issues, 
boiling  over  its  mill-wheels,  and  in  all  else  in  the  land- 
scape. In  vain  the  sunset  poured  a  golden  dust,  and 
sheets  of  crimson  light  over   the   peaceful  dwellings 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  203 


scattered  among  the  rocks,  along  the  stream,  and  in  the 
meadows  far  below, — she  was  staring  fixedly  at  the  crags 
of  St.  Sulpice.  The  wild  hope  that  had  brought  her  out 
upon  the  promenade  had  been  miraculously  realised. 

Across  the  ajoncs  and  the  bushes  of  broom  that  grew 
along  the  tops  of  the  opposite  hillsides,  she  thought  that, 
in  spite  of  their  goatskin  clothing,  she  could  recognise 
several  of  the  guests  at  the  Vivetiere.  The  Gars  was 
conspicuous  among  them  y  his  slightest  movements  stood 
out  against  the  soft  glow  of  the  sunset.  Some  paces 
behind  the  principal  group  she  saw  her  formidable  enemy 
Mme.  du  Gua.  For  a  moment  Mile,  de  Verneuil  might 
have  thought  that  she  was  dreaming,  but  her  rival's 
hatred  very  soon  made  it  plain  to  her  that  everything  in 
this  dream  had  life.  The  rapt  attention  with  which  she 
was  watching  every  slightest  gesture  on  the  part  of  the 
Marquis  prevented  her  from  noticing  the  care  with  which 
Mme.  du  Gua  was  aiming  a  rifle  at  her.  The  echoes  of 
the  hills  rang  with  the  report,  and  a  ball  whistling  close 
to  Marie  revealed  her  rival's  skill  to  her. 

cShe  is  sending  me  her  card  ! '  she  exclaimed,  smiling 
to  herself.  In  a  moment  there  was  a  cry  in  chorus  of 
6  Who  goes  there  ? '  echoed  by  sentinel  after  sentinel,  all 
the  way  from  the  castle  to  St.  Leonard's  gate,  which 
made  the  Chouans  aware  of  the  precautions  taken  by  the 
Fougerais,  since  the  least  vulnerable  side  of  their  ramparts 
was  so  well  guarded. 

c  It  is  she,  and  it  is  he  ! '  said  Marie  to  herself.  With 
the  speed  of  lightning  the  idea  of  seeking,  tracking,  and 
surprising  the  Marquis  flashed  across  her.  4 1  have  no 
weapon  ! '  she  exclaimed.  She  bethought  herself  that, 
just  as  she  was  leaving  Paris,  she  had  thrown  into  a 
trunk  an  elegant  dagger,  a  thing  that  had  once  be- 
longed to  a  sultan.  She  had  provided  herself  with  it 
when  she  set  out  for  the  scene  of  the  war  in  the  same 
humour  which  prompts  some  amusing  beings  to  equip 
themselves  with  notebooks,  in  which  to  jot  down  the 


204 


The  Chouans 


ideas  that  occur  to  them  upon  a  journey.  She  had  been 
less  attracted,  however,  by  the  prospect  of  bloodshed  than 
by  the  mere  pleasure  of  carrying  a  beautiful  jewelled 
kandjar,  and  of  playing  with  the  blade,  as  clean  as  an  eye 
glance.  Three  days  ago,  when  she  had  sought  to  kill 
herself  to  escape  her  rival's  hideous  revenge,  she  had  keenly 
regretted  leaving  this  weapon  in  her  trunk. 

In  a  moment  she  reached  the  house  again,  found  the 
dagger,  thrust  it  into  her  belt,  muffled  a  great  shawl 
round  about  her  shoulders,  wound  a  black  lace  scarf  about 
her  hair,  covered  her  head  with  a  large  flapping  hat,  like 
those  worn  by  the  Chouans,  which  she  borrowed  from  a 
servant  about  the  house  ;  and,  with  the  self-possession 
which  the  passions  sometimes  bestow,  she  took  up  the 
glove  belonging  to  the  Marquis,  which  Marche-a-Terre 
had  given  to  her  as  a  safe-conduct.  In  response  to 
Francine's  alarmed  inquiries,  she  replied — 

c  What  would  you  have  ;  I  would  go  to  hell  to  look  for 
him  ! '  and  she  went  back  to  the  promenade. 

The  Gars  was  still  there  in  the  same  place,  but  he  was 
alone.  From  the  direction  taken  by  his  perspective-glass, 
he  appeared  to  be  scrutinising  with  a  soldier's  minute 
attention  the  various  fords  of  the  Nan^on,  the  Queen's 
Staircase,  and  the  road  that  starts  from  the  gate  of  St. 
Sulpice,  winds  by  the  church,  and  joins  the  high  road 
within  range  of  the  guns  of  the  castle.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
sprang  down  the  narrow  paths  made  by  the  goatherds 
and  their  flocks  upon  the  slopes  of  the  promenade,  gained 
the  Queen's  Staircase,  reached  the  foot  of  the  crags, 
crossed  the  Nan^on,  passed  through  the  suburb,  found 
her  way  instinctively,  like  a  bird  in  the  desert,  among  the 
perilous  scarped  rocks  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  very  soon  reached 
a  slippery  track  over  the  granite  boulders.  In  spite  of 
the  bushes  of  broom,  the  thorny  ajoncs,  and  the  sharp 
loose  stones,  she  began  to  climb  with  an  amount  of 
energy  unknown  perhaps  in  man,  but  which  woman,  when 
completely  carried  away  by  passion,  possesses  for  a  time. 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  205 


Night  overtook  Marie  just  as  she  reached  the  summit, 
and  tried  to  discover,  by  the  pale  moonlight,  the  way 
which  the  Marquis  must  have  taken.  It  was  a  search 
made  persistently  but  without  any  success.  From  the 
silence  that  prevailed  throughout  the  region  she  gathered 
that  the  Chouans  and  their  leader  had  retired.  She 
suddenly  relinquished  the  effort  begun  in  passion,  along 
with  the  hope  that  had  inspired  it.  She  found  herself 
benighted  and  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  strange  country 
where  war  was  raging ;  she  began  to  reflect,  and  Hulot's 
warning  and  Mme.  du  Gua's  shot  made  her  shudder  with 
fear.  The  silence  of  night  upon  the  hills  was  so  deep 
that  she  could  hear  the  least  rustle  of  a  wandering  leaf, 
even  a  long  way  off;  such  faint  sounds  as  these,  trembling 
in  the  air,  gave  a  gloomy  idea  of  the  utter  solitude  and 
quiet. 

The  wind  blew  furiously  in  the  sky  above,  bringing  up 
clouds  that  cast  shadows  below  ;  the  effects  of  alternate 
light  and  darkness  increased  her  fears,  by  giving  a  fantastic 
and  terrifying  appearance  to  objects  of  the  most  harmless 
kind. 

She  turned  her  eyes  towards  the  houses  in  Fougeres  ; 
the  lights  of  every  household  glimmered  like  stars  on 
earth,  and  all  at  once  she  descried  the  Papegaut  tower. 
The  distance  she  must  traverse  in  order  to  reach  her 
dwelling  was  short  indeed,  but  that  distance  consisted  of 
a  precipice.  She  had  a  sufficiently  clear  recollection  of 
the  abysses  at  the  brink  of  the  narrow  footpath  by  which 
she  had  come,  to  see  that  she  would  incur  greater  peril 
by  trying  to  return  to  Fougeres  than  by  continuing  her 
enterprise.  She  reflected  that  the  Marquis's  glove  would 
deprive  her  nocturnal  excursion  of  all  its  dangers,  if  the 
Chouans  should  be  in  possession  of  the  country.  She  had 
only  Mme.  du  Gua  to  dread.  At  the  thought  of  her, 
Marie  clutched  her  dagger  and  tried  to  go  in  the 
direction  of  a  house,  of  the  roofs  of  which  she  had  caught 
a  glimpse  as  she  reached  the  crags  of  St,  Sulpice,  She 


206 


The  Chouans 


made  but  slow  progress.  Never  before  had  she  known 
the  majesty  of  darkness  that  oppresses  a  solitary  being  at 
night  in  the  midst  of  a  wild  country,  over  which  the 
mountains,  like  a  company  of  giants,  seem  to  bow  their 
lofty  heads. 

The  rustle  of  her  dress,  caught  by  the  gorse,  made  her 
tremble  more  than  once  ;  more  than  once  she  quickened 
her  pace,  only  to  slacken  it  again  with  the  thought  that 
her  last  hour  had  come.  But  circumstances  very  soon 
assumed  a  character,  which  might  perhaps  have  daunted 
the  boldest  men,  and  which  threw  Marie  into  one  of 
those  panics  that  make  such  heavy  demands  upon  the 
springs  of  life  within  us,  that  everything,  strength  as 
weakness,  is  exaggerated  in  the  individual.  The  weakest 
natures  at  such  times  show  an  unexpected  strength ;  and 
the  strongest  grow  frantic  with  terror. 

Marie  heard  strange  sounds  at  a  little  distance.  They 
were  vague  and  distinct  at  the  same  time,  just  as  the 
surrounding  night  was  lighter  and  darker  by  turns. 
They  seemed  to  indicate  tumult  and  confusion.  She 
strained  her  ears  to  catch  them.  They  rose  from  the 
depths  of  the  earth,  which  appeared  to  be  shaking  with 
the  tramp  of  a  great  multitude  of  men  on  the  march.  A 
momentary  gleam  of  light  allowed  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to 
see,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  paces,  a  long  file  of  horrid 
forms  swaying  like  ears  of  corn  in  the  fields — stealing 
along  like  goblin  shapes.  But  hardly  had  she  seen  them 
when  darkness,  like  a  black  curtain,  fell  again  and  hid 
from  her  this  fearful  vision  full  of  yellow  and  glittering 
eyes.  She  shrank  back  and  rushed  swiftly  to  the  top  of  a 
slope,  to  escape  three  of  these  horrible  figures  that  were 
approaching  her. 

-    i  Did  you  see  him  ? '  asked  one. 

1 1  felt  a  cold  wind  when  he  passed  near  me,'  a  hoarse 
roice  replied. 

4 1  myself  breathed  the  dank  air  and  the  smell  of  a 
graveyard,'  said  a  third. 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  207 


1  How  pale  he  is  ! '  the  first  speaker  began. 

( Why  has  he  returned  alone  out  of  all  who  fell  at  La 
Pelerine  ?  9  asked  the  second. 

c  Ah,  why  indeed  ? 9  replied  the  third.  6  Why  should 
those  who  belong  to  the  Sacred  Heart  have  the  preference  ? 
However,  I  would  rather  die  unconfessed  than  wander 
about  as  he  does,  neither  eating  nor  drinking,  without 
any  blood  in  his  veins  or  flesh  on  his  bones.* 

'Ah  !  .  . 

This  exclamation,  or  rather  fearful  yell,  broke  from  the 
group  as  one  of  the  Chouans  pointed  to  the  slender  form 
and  pallid  face  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  was  flying  with 
the  speed  of  fear,  while  none  of  them  caught  the  slightest 
sound  of  her  movements. 

6  There  he  is  ! — Here  he  is  ! — Where  is  he  ? — There  ! 
— Here  ! — He  has  vanished  ! — No  ! — Yes  ! — Do  you  see 
him  ? 9  The  words  rolled  out  like  the  monotonous  sound 
of  waves  upon  the  beach. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  went  on  bravely  towards  the  house, 
and  saw  the  dim  figures  of  a  crowd  which  fled  away  at 
her  approach  with  every  sign  of  panic-stricken  fear.  A 
strange  force  within  her  seemed  to  urge  her  on  ;  its 
influence  was  overpowering  her  ;  a  sensation  of  corporeal 
lightness,  which  she  could  not  understand,  was  a  fresh 
source  of  terror  to  her.  The  shapes  which  rose  in  masses 
at  her  approach,  as  if  from  under  the  earth,  where  they 
appeared  to  be  lying,  gave  groans  which  seemed  to  have 
nothing  human  about  them.  At  last,  and  not  without 
difficulty,  she  reached  a  garden,  now  lying  waste,  with  all 
its  fencing  and  hedges  broken  down.  She  showed  her 
glove  to  a  sentinel  who  stopped  her.  The  moonlight  fell 
upon  her  form,  and  at  the  sight  the  sentinel,  who  had 
pointed  his  carbine  at  Marie,  let  the  weapon  fall  from 
his  hand,  uttering  a  hoarse  cry  that  rang  through  the 
country  round  about. 

She  saw  large  masses  of  buildings,  with  a  light  here 
and  there  which  showed  that  some  of  the  rooms  were 


208 


The  Chouans 


inhabited ;  and  without  further  let  or  hindrance  she 
reached  the  wall  of  the  house.  Through  the  first  window 
towards  which  she  went  she  beheld  Mme.  du  Gua  and 
the  chiefs  who  had  come  together  at  the  Vivetiere, 
This  sight,  combined  with  the  consciousness  of  the  peri! 
she  was  in,  made  her  reckless.  She  flung  herself  violently 
upon  a  low  opening,  covered  with  massive  iron  bars,  and 
discerned  the  Marquis  two  paces  distant  from  her, 
melancholy  and  alone,  in  a  long  vaulted  hall.  The 
reflections  of  the  firelight  from  the  hearth,  before  which 
he  was  sitting  in  a  cumbrous  chair,  lighted  up  his  face 
with  flickering  hues  of  red  that  made  the  whole  scene 
look  like  a  vision.  The  poor  girl  strained  herself  to  the 
bars,  trembling,  but  otherwise  motionless ;  she  hoped  that 
she  should  hear  him  if  he  spoke  in  the  deep  silence  that 
prevailed.  She  saw  him  looking  pale,  dejected,  and  dis- 
heartened ;  she  flattered  herself  that  she  was  one  of  the 
causes  of  his  melancholy,  and  her  anger  turned  to  sym- 
pathy, and  sympathy  to  tenderness  ;  she  suddenly  felt  that 
it  was  not  vengeance  alone  that  had  drawn  her  thither. 
The  Marquis  rose  to  his  feet,  turned  his  head,  and  stood 
bewildered  when  he  beheld  Mile,  de  VerneuiPs  face  as  in 
a  cloud  there.  He  made  a  sign  of  scorn  and  impatience 
as  he  cried,  c  Must  I  see  that  she-devil  always  before  me, 
even  in  my  waking  hours  ? ' 

This  intense  contempt  he  had  conceived  for  her  drew 
a  frenzied  laugh  from  the  poor  girl.  The  young  chief 
shuddered  at  it,  and  sprang  to  the  window.  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  fled.  She  heard  a  man's  footsteps  behind  her, 
and  took  her  pursuer  for  Montauran.  In  her  desire  to 
escape  from  him  she  discerned  no  obstacles;  she  would 
have  scaled  walls  or  flown  through  the  air ;  she  could 
have  taken  the  road  to  hell  if  so  be  she  might  read  no  i 
longer,  in  letters  of  flame,  the  words,  c  He  scorns  you  ! 1 
written  upon  his  forehead — words  which  a  voice  repeated 
within  her  in  trumpet  tones.  After  walking  on,  she  knew 
not  whither,  she  stopped,  for  a  chilly  dampness  seemed  to  \ 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow 


strike  through  her.  She  heard  the  footsteps  of  several 
people,  and  impelled  by  fear,  she  descended  a  staircase 
that  led  into  an  underground  cellar.  As  she  reached  the 
lowest  step,  she  listened  for  the  footsteps  of  the  pursuers, 
trying  to  ascertain  their  direction ;  but  though  the 
sounds  without  were  turbulent  enough,  she  could  hear  the 
lamentable  groans  of  a  human  being  within,  which  added 
to  her  terrors. 

A  streak  of  light  from  the  head  of  the  staircase  led  her 
to  fear  lest  her  hiding-place  had  been  discovered  by  her 
persecutors.  Her  desire  to  escape  them  lent  her  fresh 
strength.  A  few  moments  later,  when  her  ideas  were 
more  collected,  she  found  it  very  difficult  to  explain  the 
way  in  which  she  had  contrived  to  scramble  up  the  low 
wall  on  the  top  of  which  she  was  hiding.  At  first  she 
did  not  even  notice  the  cramp  which  her  constrained 
position  caused  her  to  experience;  but  the  pain  at  last 
grew  intolerable,  for,  under  the  arch  of  the  vault,  she 
was  much  in  the  position  of  a  crouching  Venus  en- 
sconced by  some  amateur  in  too  narrow  a  niche.  The 
wall  itself  was  built  of  granite,  and  fairly  broad ;  it 
separated  the  staircase  from  the  cellar  whence  the  groans 
were  issuing.  She  soon  saw  a  stranger  clad  in  goatskins 
come  down  the  staircase  beneath  her,  and  turn  under  the 
archway,  without  the  least  sign  about  him  to  indicate  an 
excited  search.  In  her  eagerness  to  discover  any  chance 
of  saving  herself,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  waited  anxiously  till 
the  cellar  was  illuminated  by  the  light  which  the  stranger 
was  carrying  ;  then  she  beheld  on  the  floor  a  shapeless  but 
living  mass,  trying  to  drag  itself  towards  a  certain  part  of 
the  wall  by  violent  and  repeated  jerks,  like  the  convulsive 
writhings  of  a  carp  that  has  been  drawn  from  the  river 
and  laid  on  the  bank. 

-"A  small  resinous  torch  soon  cast  a  bluish  and  uncertain 
light  over  the  cellar.  In  spite  of  the  romance  with  which 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  invested  the  groined  roof  that  rang 
with  the  sounds  of  agonised  entreaties,  she  was  compelled 

o 


2IO 


The  Chouans 


to  recognise  the  fact  that  she  was  in  an  underground 
kitchen  which  had  been  long  unused.  Thus  illuminated, 
the  shapeless  mass  took  the  form  of  a  short,  stout  person 
whose  every  limb  had  been  carefully  tied,  but  who  seemed 
to  have  been  left  on  the  damp  flags  of  the  pavement 
without  any  other  precaution  on  the  part  of  those  who 
had  seized  him. 

At  sight  of  the  stranger  (who  carried  a  light  in  one 
hand  and  a  faggot  in  the  other),  the  prisoner  gave  a  deep 
groan,  which  wrought  so  powerfully  upon  Mile,  de 
VerneuiPs  feelings  that  she  forgot  her  own  terror  and 
despair,  and  the  frightful  cramp  which  was  benumbing 
her  doubled-up  limbs ;  she  could  scarcely  keep  herself 
still.  The  Chouan  flung  down  his  faggot  upon  the 
hearth,  after  assuring  himself  of  the  solidity  of  an  old  pot- 
hook which  hung  down  the  whole  length  of  a  sheet  of 
cast  iron,  and  set  the  wood  alight  with  his  torch.  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  then  recognised,  not  without  alarm,  the 
cunning  Pille-Miche,  to  whom  her  rival  had  assigned 
her.  His  form,  lighted  up  by  the  flames,  looked  very 
like  one  of  the  tiny  grotesque  figures  that  Germans 
carve  in  wood.  A  broad  grin  overspread  his  furrowed 
and  sunburnt  face  at  the  wails  that  went  up  from  his 
prisoner. 

4  You  see,'  he  remarked  to  the  sufferer,  c  that  Christians 
such  as  we  are  do  not  go  back  on  our  words  as  you  do. 
This  fire  here  will  take  some  of  the  stiffness  out  of  your 
legs,  and  out  of  your  hands  and  tongue  too.  .  .  .  But 
hold  on  !  I  do  not  see  a  dripping-pan  to  put  under  your 
feet,  and  they  are  so  fat  that  they  might  put  the  fire  out. 
Your  house  must  be  very  badly  furnished  when  you  cannot 
find  everything  in  it  to  make  the  master  thoroughly 
comfortable  when  he  is  warming  himself.' 

At  this  the  victim  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  as  if  he 
hoped  that  his  voice  would  rise  above  the  arched  roof,  and 
bring  some  one  to  his  rescue. 

1  Sing  away  as  much  as  you  like,  M.  d'Orgemont ! 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow 


211 


They  have  all  gone  to  bed  upstairs,  and  Marche-a-Terre 
is  coming  ->  he  will  shut  the  cellar  door/ 

As  he  spoke,  Pille-Miche  rapped  the  butt  end  of  his 
carbine  over  the  mantelpiece,  the  flags  on  the  kitchen 
floor,  the  walls  and  the  stoves,  trying  to  discover  the 
place  where  the  miser  had  hidden  his  gold.  The  search 
was  so  cleverly  conducted  that  d'Orgemont  did  not  utter 
a  further  sound.  He  seemed  possessed  by  the  fear  that 
some  frightened  servant  might  have  betrayed  him ;  for 
though  he  had  trusted  nobody,  his  habits  might  have 
given  rise  to  very  well-grounded  suspicions.  From  time 
to  time  Pille-Miche  turned  sharply  and  looked  at  his 
victim,  as  in  the  children's  game,  when  they  try  to  guess 
from  the  unconscious  expression  of  one  of  their  number 
the  spot  where  he  has  hidden  a  given  object  as  they 
move  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  it.  D'Orgemont 
showed  some  alarm  for  the  Chouan's  benefit  when  he 
struck  a  hollow  sound  from  the  stoves,  and  seemed  to 
have  a  mind  to  divert  Pille-Miche's  credulous  greed  in 
this  way  for  a  time. 

Just  then  three  other  Chouans  came  running  down 
the  staircase,  and  suddenly  entered  the  kitchen.  Pille- 
Miche  abandoned  his  search  when  he  saw  Marche-a- 
Terre,  flinging  a  glance  at  d'Orgemont  with  all  the 
ferocity  that  his  disappointed  avarice  had  aroused  in  him. 

c  Marie  Lambrequin  has  come  to  life  again  !  9  said 
Marche-a-Terre,  with  a  preoccupation  that  showed  how 
all  other  interests  faded  away  before  such  a  momentous 
piece  of  news. 

( I  am  not  surprised  at  that,'  answered  Pille-Mich^ ; 
che  took  the  sacrament  so  often  !  He  seemed  to  have 
le  bon  Dieu  all  to  himself.' 

c  Aha  ! '  remarked  Mene-a-Bien.  c  But  it  is  of  no  more 
help  to  him  now  than  shoes  to  a  dead  man.  He  did  not 
receive  absolution  before  that  business  at  La  Pelerine,  and 
.there  he  is  !  He  misguided  that  girl  of  Gogelu's,  and 
was  weighed  down  by  a  mortal  sin.     Besides  that,  the 


212 


The  Chouans 


Abbe  Gudin  told  us  that  he  would  have  to  wait  a  couple 
of  months  before  he  could  come  back  for  good.  We 
saw  him  go  along  in  front,  every  man  jack  of  us.  He 
is  white,  and  cold,  and  he  flits  about ;  there  is  the  scent 
of  the  grave  about  him.' 

i  And  his  reverence  assured  us  that  if  the  ghost  could 
catch  hold  of  anybody,  he  would  make  just  such  another 
of  him,'  the  fourth  Chouan  put  in. 

The  wry  face  of  the  last  speaker  aroused  Marche-a- 
Terre  from  religious  musings  prompted  by  the  newly- 
wrought  miracle,  which,  according  to  the  Abbe  Gudin, 
might  be  renewed  for  every  pious  champion  of  religion 
and  royalty. 

cNow  you  see,  Galope-Chopine,'  he  said  to  the  neo- 
phyte, with  a  certain  gravity, c  what  comes  of  the  slightest 
omission  of  the  duties  commanded  by  our  holy  religion. 
St  Anne  of  Auray  counselled  us  not  to  pass  over  the 
smallest  faults  among  ourselves.  Your  cousin  Pille-Miche 
has  asked  for  the  surveillance  of  Fougeres  for  you  ->  the 
Gars  has  intrusted  you  with  it,  and  you  will  be  well  paid. 
But  you,  perhaps,  know  the  sort  of  flour  we  knead  into 
bread  for  traitors  ? 9 

c  Yes,  M.  Marche-a-Terre.' 

c  Do  you  know  why  I  tell  you  that  ?  There  are  folk 
who  hint  that  you  have  a  hankering  after  cider  and  round 
pence ;  but  there  is  to  be  no  feathering  of  your  nest, 
you  are  to  be  our  man  now. 

4  With  all  due  respect,  M.  Marche-a-Terre,  cider  and 
pence  are  two  good  things  which  do  not  anywise  hinder 
salvation.' 

*  If  my  cousin  makes  any  blunders,5  said  Pille-Miche, 
c  it  will  be  for  want  of  knowing  better.' 

4  No  matter  how  it  happens,'  cried  Marche-a-Terre  in 
a  voice  that  shook  the  roof,  ?  if  anything  goes  wrong,  I 
shall  not  let  him  off.  You  shall  answer  for  him,'  he 
added  to  Pille-Miche  ;  4  if  he  gets  himself  into  trouble,  I 
will  take  it  out  of  the  lining  of  your  goatskins.' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  213 


'But,  asking  your  pardon,  M.  Marche-a-Terre,'  Galope- 
Chopine  began,  '  hasn't  it  often  happened  to  you  yourself 
to  mistake  Contre-Chuins  for  Chans  r  * 

'My  friend,5  replied  Marche-a-Terre  in  a  dry  tone  of 
voice,  c  do  not  let  that  happen  to  you  again,  or  I  will  slice 
you  in  two  like  a  turnip.  Those  who  are  sent  out  by 
the  Gars  will  have  his  glove.  But  since  this  affair  at 
the  Vivetiere,  the  Grande-Garce  fastens  a  green  ribbon 
to  it.' 

Pille-Miche  jogged  his  comrade's  elbow  sharply,  point- 
ing out  d'Orgemont,  who  was  pretending  to  sleep ;  but 
Marche-a-Terre  and  Pille-Miche  knew  by  experience 
that  no  one  had  ever  yet  slept  by  the  side  of  their  fire, 
and  though  the  last  remarks  to  Galope-Chopine  had  been 
spoken  in  low  tones,  yet  the  sufferer  might  have  under- 
stood them  ;  so  all  four  of  the  Chouans  looked  at  him  for 
a  moment,  and  no  doubt  concluded  that  fear  had  deprived 
him  of  the  use  of  his  senses.  Suddenly  Marche-a-Terre 
gave  a  slight  sign  3  Pille-Miche  drew  off  d'Orgemont's 
shoes  and  stockings,  Mene-a-Bien  and  Galope-Chopine 
seized  him  by  the  waist  and  carried  him  to  the  hearth. 
Next  Marche-a-Terre  took  a  band  from  the  faggot  and 
bound  the  miser's  feet  to  the  pot-hook.  All  these 
proceedings,  together  with  the  incredible  quickness  of 
their  movements,  forced  cries  from  the  victim,  which 
grew  heart-rending  when  Pille-Miche  had  heaped  up 
the  glowing  coals  under  his  legs. 

cMy  friends,  my  good  friends,'  cried  d'Orgemont, 
'you  will  hurt  me  !    I  am  a  Christian  as  you  are.  .  .  .' 

'You  are  lying  in  your  throat,'  answered  Marche-a- 
Terre.  'Your  brother  denied  the  existence  of  God,  and 
vou  yourself  bought  the  Abbey  of  Juvigny.  The  Abbe 
Gudin  says  that  we  may  roast  apostates  without  scruple.' 

'  But  my  brethren  in  religion,  I  do  not  refuse  to  pay 
you.' 

'  We  gave  you  two  weeks,  and  now  two  months  have 
passed,  and  Galope-Chopine  here  has  received  nothing.' 


2I4 


The  Chouans 


4  Then  you  have  received  nothing,  Galope-Chopine  ? ' 
asked  the  miser  in  despair. 

'Nothing  whatever,  M.  d'Orgemont,'  replied  the 
alarmed  Galope-Chopine. 

The  cries  which  had  become  a  continuous  kind  of 
growl,  like  the  death-rattle  of  a  dying  man,  began  afresh 
with  extraordinary  violence.  The  Chouans  were  as 
much  used  to  this  kind  of  scene  as  to  seeing  dogs  go 
about  without  shoes  \  and  were  looking  on  so  coolly 
while  d'Orgemont  writhed  and  yelled,  that  they  might 
have  been  travellers  waiting  round  the  fire  in  an  inn- 
kitchen  until  the  joint  is  sufficiently  roasted  to  eat. 

c  I  am  dying  !  I  am  dying  ! '  cried  the  victim,  c  and 
you  will  not  have  my  money.' 

Violent  as  his  outcries  were,  Pille-Miche  noticed  that 
the  fire  had  not  yet  scorched  him  ;  it  was  stirred  therefore 
in  a  very  artistic  fashion,  so  as  to  make  the  flames  leap  a 
little  higher.  At  this,  d'Orgemont  said  in  dejected 
tones — 

'  Untie  me,  my  friends.  .  .  .  What  do  you  want  ?  A 
hundred  crowns  ?  A  thousand  ?  Ten  thousand  ?  A 
hundred  thousand  ?    I  offer  you  two  hundred  crowns.' 

His  tone  was  so  piteous  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  forgot 
her  own  danger,  and  an  exclamation  broke  from  her. 

(  Who  spoke  ? '  asked  Marche-a-Terre. 

The  Chouans  cast  uneasy  glances  about  them.  The 
very  men  who  were  so  courageous  under  a  murderous 
fire  from  the  cannon's  mouth  dared  not  face  a  ghost. 
Pille-Miche  alone  heard  with  undivided  attention  the 
confession  which  increasing  torments  wrung  from  his 
victim. 

4  Five  hundred  crowns.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  will  pay  it  ! '  said 
the  miser. 

4  Pshaw  !  Where  are  they  ? '  calmly  responded  Pille- 
Miche. 

4  Eh  ?  Oh,  they  are  under  the  first  apple  tree.  .  .  . 
Holy  Virgin  !   At  the  end  of  the  garden,  to  the  left.  .  .  , 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  215 


You  are  bandits  !  .  .  .  You  are  robbers  !  .  .  .  Oh  !  I 
am  dying.  .  .  .  There  are  ten  thousand  francs  there.' 

c  I  wi&--not  take  francs,'  said  Marche-a-Terre  ;  6  they 
must  be  livres.  Your  Republican  crowns  have  heathen 
figures  on  them.    They  will  never  pass.' 

c  It  is  all  in  livres,  in  good  louis  d'or.  But  let  me 
loose,  let  me  loose.  .  .  .  You  know  where  my  life 
is  .  .  .  my  hoard  ! 9 

The  four  Chouans  looked  at  each  other,  considering 
which  of  their  number  could  be  trusted  with  the  errand 
of  unearthing  the  money.  But  just  then  their  ferocious 
cruelty  had  so  revolted  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  that  although 
she  could  not  be  sure  that  the  role  assigned  to  her  by  her 
pale  face  would  still  preserve  her  from  danger,  she  cried 
bravely  in  a  deep  tone  of  voice,  c  Do  you  not  fear  the 
wrath  of  God  ?    Unbind  him,  you  savages  ! ' 

The  Chouans  looked  up.  They  saw  eyes  that  shone 
like  stars,  in  mid-air,  and  fled  in  terror.  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  sprang  down  into  the  kitchen,  ran  up  to 
d'Orgemont,  and  drew  him  from  the  fire  with  such 
energy  that  the  faggot  band  snapped,  then  with  the  blade 
of  her  dagger  she  cut  the  cords  with  which  he  was  bound. 
As  soon  as  the  miser  was  liberated  and  stood  on  his  feet, 
the  first  expression  that  crossed  his  face  was  a  dolorous 
but  sardonic  smile.  6  Off*  with  you  ! '  he  said  ;  4  go  to  the 
apple-tree,  brigands  !  .  .  .  Ho  !  ho  !  This  is  the  second 
time  that  I  have  hoodwinked  them,  and  they  shall  not 
get  hold  of  me  a  third  time  ! 9 

Just  then  a  woman's  voice  sounded  without.  c  A 
ghost ! '  cried  Mme.  du  Gua.  4  A  ghost !  Idiots  !  It  is 
she  !  A  thousand  crowns  to  any  one  who  will  bring  that 
harlot's  head  to  me  ! ' 

Mme.  de  Verneuil  turned  pale,  but  the  miser  smiled. 
He  took  her  hand,  drew  her  under  the  mantel-board  of 
the  chimney,  and  saw  that  she  left  no  least  trace  of  her 
passage  by  leading  her  round  in  such  a  way  that  the  fire, 
which  took  up  but  a  little  space,  was  not  disturbed.  He 


2l6 


The  Chouans 


pressed  a  spring,  the  sheet  of  cast-iron  rose ;  and  before 
their  foes  came  back  into  the  cellar,  the  heavy  door  of 
their  hiding-place  had  slipped  noiselessly  back  again. 
Then  the  fair  Parisian  understood  the  carp-like  struggles 
which  had  been  made  by  the  luckless  banker,  and  to 
which  she  had  been  a  witness* 

4  You  see,  madame!'  cried  Marche-a-Terre.  4  The 
ghost  has  taken  the  Blue  for  his  comrade.' 

Great  must  their  alarm  have  been,  for  such  a  dead 
silence  followed  his  words  that  d'Orgemont  and  his  com- 
panion could  hear  the  Chouans  muttering,  4  Ave,  sancta 
Anna  Auriaca  gratia  plena,  Dominus  tecum,  and  so  forth. 

4  The  simpletons  are  saying  their  prayers  ! '  exclaimed 
d'Orgemont. 

4  Are  you  not  afraid,'  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  her 
companion,  cof  making  known  our  hiding-place?' 

The  old  miser's  laugh  dispelled  the  Parisian  girl's  fears. 

4  The  plate  is  set  in  a  slab  of  granite  ten  inches  thick. 
We  can  hear  them,  but  they  cannot  hear  us.'  He  then 
gently  took  the  hand  of  his  liberatress,  and  led  her 
towards  a  crevice  through  which  the  fresh  breeze  came 
in  whiffs ;  she  guessed  that  this  opening  had  been  con- 
trived in  the  shaft  of  the  chimney. 

c  Aha  ! '  d'Orgemont  began  again.  4  The  devil !  My 
legs  smart  a  bit.  That  44 Filly  of  Charette's,"  as  they 
call  her  at  Nantes,  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  gainsay  those 
faithful  believers  of  hers.  She  knows  very  well  that  if 
they  were  not  so  besotted,  they  would  not  fight  against 
their  own  interests.  There  she  is,  praying  along  with 
them.  It  must  be  a  pretty  sight  to  see  her  saying  her 
Ave  to  St.  Anne  of  Auray !  She  would  be  better 
employed  in  plundering  a  coach  so  as  to  pay  me  back 
those  four  thousand  francs  that  she  owes  me.  What 
with  the  costs  and  the  interest,  it  mounts  up  to  quite 
four  thousand  seven  hundred  and  forty-five  francs,  and 
some  centimes  over.' 

Their  prayer  ended,  the  Chouans  rose  from  their 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  217 


knees  and  went.  Old  d'Orgemont  squeezed  Mile,  de 
VerneuiPs  hand  by  way  of  apprising  her  that,  neverthe- 
less, danger  still  existed. 

'No,  madame,'  cried  Pille-Miche  after  a  pause  of  a 
few  minutes,  '  you  might  stop  here  for  ten  years.  They 
will  not  come  back.' 

'But  she  has  not  gone  out;  she  must  be  here!' 
persisted  '  Charette's  Filly/ 

'No,  no,  madame;  they  have  flown  right  through  the 
walls.  Did  not  the  devil,  once  before,  fly  away  from  here 
with  a  priest  who  had  taken  the  oath  under  our  eyes  ?' 

'You  are  a  miser  as  he  is,  Pille-Miche,  and  yet  you 
cannot  see  that  the  old  niggard  might  very  probably 
spend  some  thousands  of  livres  in  making  a  recess  in  the 
foundations  of  these  vaults,  with  a  secret  entrance  to  it.' 

The  girl  and  the  miser  heard  the  guffaw  that  broke 
from  Pille-Miche.    '  Very  true  ! '  he  said. 

'  Stop  here,'  Mme.  du  Gua  went  on.  '  Lie  in  wait  for 
them  as  they  come  out.  For  one  single  shot,  I  will  give 
you  all  that  you  will  find  in  our  usurer's  treasury.  If 
you  want  me  to  pardon  you  for  selling  that  girl,  after  I 
had  told  you  to  kill  her,  you  must  obey  me.' 

'  Usurer ! '  said  old  d'Orgemont,  '  and  yet  I  only 
charged  her  nine  per  cent,  on  the  loan.  I  had  a  mort- 
gage, it  is  true,  as  a  security.  But  now  you  see  how 
grateful  she  is  !  Come,  madame  ;  if  God  punishes  us  for 
doing  ill,  the  devil  is  here  to  punish  us  for  doing  well ; 
and  man's  position  between  these  two  extremities,  with- 
out any  notion  of  what  the  future  may  be,  always  looks, 
to  my  thinking,  like  a  sum  in  proportion,  wherein  the 
value  of  x  is  undiscoverable.' 

He  fetched  a  hollow-sounding  sigh  which  was  peculiar 
to  him ;  for  his  breath  as  it  passed  through  his  larynx 
seemed  to  come  in  contact  with  and  to  strike  two  aged 
and  relaxed  vocal  chords.  The  sounds  made  by  Pille- 
Miche  and  Mme.  du  Gua  as  they  tried  the  walls,  the 
vaulted   roof,  and  the  pavement   seemed   to  reassure 


2l8 


The  Chouans 


d'Orgemont ;  he  took  his  liberatress's  hand  to  help  her 
to  climb  a  narrow  spiral  staircase,  hollowed  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  granite  rock.  When  they  had  come  up  a 
score  of  steps  the  faint  glow  of  a  lamp  lighted  up  their 
faces.  The  miser  stopped  and  turned  to  his  companion, 
looking  closely  at  her  face  as  if  he  had  been  gazing  upon 
and  turning  over  and  over  some  doubtful  bill  to  be 
discounted.    He  heaved  his  terrible  sigh. 

'  When  I  brought  you  here,'  he  said,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  4 1  completely  discharged  the  obligation  under 
which  you  laid  me  \  so  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  give  ' 

c  Leave  me  here,  sir ;  I  want  nothing  of  you,'  she 
said. 

Her  last  words,  and  possibly  also  the  contempt  visible 
in  the  beautiful  face,  reassured  the  little  old  man,  for  he 
went  on,  after  a  fresh  sigh — 

€  Ah  !  when  I  brought  you  here,  I  did  too  much  not 
to  go  through  with  it  ' 

He  politely  helped  Marie  to  climb  some  steps,  arranged 
in  a  somewhat  peculiar  fashion,  and  brought  her,  half 
willingly,  half  reluctantly,  into  a  little  closet,  four  feet 
square,  lighted  by  a  lamp  that  hung  from  the  roof.  It 
was  easy  to  see  that  the  miser  had  made  every  preparation 
for  spending  more  than  one  day  in  this  retreat,  in  case  the 
exigencies  of  civil  war  compelled  him  to  make  some  stay 
there. 

*  Don't  go  near  the  wall !  you  might  get  covered  with 
white  dust,'  d'Orgemont  exclaimed  suddenly,  as  he  thrust 
his  hand  hastily  between  the  girl's  shawl  and  the  wall, 
which  seemed  to  be  newly  whitewashed.  The  old  miser's 
action  produced  an  exactly  opposite  effect  to  the  one 
intended.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  looked  straight  in  front  of 
her  at  once,  and  saw  a  sort  of  construction  in  a  corner, 
A  cry  of  terror  broke  from  her  as  she  remarked  its  shape, 
for  she  thought  that  some  human  being  had  been  put 
there  in  a  standing  position,  and  had  been  covered 
with   plaster.     D'Orgemont  made  a  menacing  sign, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  219 

imposing  silence  upon  her,  and  his  own  little  china-blue 
eyes  showed  as  much  alarm  as  his  companion's. 

c  Foolish  girl ! '  cried  he, c  did  you  think  I  had  murdered 
him  ?  .  .  .  That  is  my  brother,'  he  said,  and  there  was 
a  melancholy  change  in  his  sigh.  6  He  was  the  first 
recteur  to  take  the  oath,  and  this  was  the  one  refuge 
where  he  was  safe  from  the  fury  of  the  Chouans  and  of 
his  fellow  priests.  To  persecute  such  a  well-regulated 
man  as  that !  He  was  my  elder  brother  -9  he  had  the 
patience  to  teach  me  the  decimal  system,  he  and  no  other. 
Oh  !  he  was  a  worthy  priest !  He  was  thrifty,  and  knew 
how  to  save.  He  died  four  years  ago.  I  do  not  know 
what  his  disease  was ;  but  these  priests,  you  see,  have  a 
habit  of  kneeling  in  prayer  from  time  to  time,  and  possibly 
he  could  never  get  used  to  the  standing  position  here,  as 
I  myself  have  done.  ...  I  put  him  here;  otherwise 
they  would  have  disinterred  him.  Some  day  I  may  be 
able  to  bury  him  in  consecrated  earth,  as  the  poor  fellow 
used  to  say,  for  he  only  took  the  oath  through  fear.' 

A  tear  filled  the  hard  eyes  of  the  little  old  man.  His  red 
wig  looked  less  ugly  to  the  girl,  who  turned  her  own  eyes 
away  with  an  inward  feeling  of  reverence  for  his  sorrow  ; 
but  notwithstanding  his  softened  mood,  d'Orgemont 
spoke  again.    4  Do  not  go  near  the  wall,  or  you  9 

He  did  not  take  his  gaze  off  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  eyes, 
for  in  this  way  he  hoped  to  prevent  her  from  scrutinising 
the  partition  walls  of  the  closet,  in  which  the  scanty 
supply  of  air  hardly  sufficed  for  the  requirements  of 
breathing.  Yet  Marie  managed  to  steal  a  glance  round 
about  her,  undetected  by  her  Argus,  and  from  the  eccen- 
tric protuberances  in  the  walls  she  inferred  that  the  miser 
had  built  them  himself  out  of  bags  of  gold  and  silver. 

In  another  moment,  d'Orgemont  was  seized  with  a 
strange  kind  of  ecstasy.  The  painful  smarting  sensation 
in  his  legs,  and  his  apprehensions  at  the  sight  of  a  human 
being  among  his  treasures,  were  plainly  to  be  seen  in  every 
wrinkle ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  there  was  an  unaccus- 


220 


The  Chouans 


tomed  glow  in  his  dry  eyes ;  a  generous  emotion  was 
aroused  in  him  by  the  dangerous  proximity  of  his  neigh- 
bour, with  the  pink  and  white  cheeks  that  invited  kisses, 
and  the  dark  velvet-like  glances  ;  so  that  the  hot  blood 
surged  to  his  heart  in  such  a  way  that  he  hardly  knew 
whether  it  betokened  life  or  death. 

*  Are  you  married  ? '  he  asked  in  a  faltering  voice, 
€  No,*  she  answered,  smiling. 

6 1  have  a  little  property,'  he  said,  heaving  his  peculiar 
sigh,  c  though  I  am  not  so  rich  as  they  all  say  I  am.  A 
young  girl  like  you  should  be  fond  of  diamonds,  jewellery, 
carriages,  and  gold,'  he  added,  looking  about  him  in  a 
dismayed  fashion,  c  I  have  all  these  things  to  give  you 
at  my  death.  .  .  .  And  if  you  liked  ' 

There  was  so  much  calculation  in  the  old  man's  eyes, 
even  while  this  fleeting  fancy  possessed  him,  that  while 
she  shook  her  head.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not  help 
thinking  that  the  miser  had  thought  to  marry  her,  simply 
that  he  might  bury  his  secret  in  the  heart  of  a  second  self. 

c  Money,'  she  said,  with  an  ironical  glance  at  d'Orge- 
mont  that  left  him  half  pleased,  half  vexed,  c  money  is 
nothing  to  me.  If  all  the  gold  that  I  have  refused  were 
here,  you  would  be  three  times  richer  than  you  are.' 

1  Don't  go  near  the  wall  ' 

c  And  yet  nothing  was  asked  of  me  but  one  look,'  she 
went  on  with  indescribable  pride. 

*  You  were  wrong.  It  was  a  capital  piece  of  business. 
Just  think  of  it  ' 

( Think  that  I  have  just  heard  a  voice  sounding  here,' 
broke  in  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  c  and  that  one  single  syllable 
of  it  has  more  value  for  me  than  all  your  riches.' 

c  You  do  not  know  how  much  ' 

Before  the  miser  could  prevent  her,  Marie  moved  with 
her  finger  a  little  coloured  print,  representing  Louis  xv. 
on  horseback,  and  suddenly  saw  the  Marquis  beneath  her, 
engaged  in  loading  a  blunderbuss.  The  opening  con- 
cealed by  the  tiny  panel,  over  which  the  print  was  pasted, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  221 

apparently  corresponded  with  some  ornamental  carving  on 
the  ceiling  of  the  next  room,  where  the  Royalist  general 
had  no  doubt  been  sleeping.  D'Orgemont  slid  the  old 
print  back  again  with  extreme  heedfulness,  and  looked 
sternly  at  the  young  girl. 

c  Do  not  speak  a  word,  if  you  value  your  life  !  It  is  no 
cockle-shell  that  you  have  grappled,' he  whispered  in  her  ear, 
after  a  pause.  c  Do  you  know  that  the  Marquis  of  Mon- 
.tauran  draws  a  revenue  of  more  than  a  hundred  thousand 
livres  from  the  rents  of  estates  which  have  not  yet  been 
sold  ?  And  the  Consuls  have  just  issued  a  decree  putting  a 
stop  to  the  sequestrations.  I  saw  it  in  the  paper,  in  the 
Primidi  de  V Ille-et-Vilaine.  Aha !  the  Gars  there  is  a 
prettier  man  now,  is  he  not  ?  Your  eyes  are  sparkling 
like  two  new  louis  d'ors.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil's  glances  had  become  exceedingly 
animated  when  she  heard  afresh  the  sounds  of  the  voice 
that  she  knew  so  well.  Since  she  had  been  standing 
there,  buried  as  it  were  in  a  mine  of  wealth,  her  mind, 
which  had  been  overwhelmed  by  these  occurrences, 
regained  its  elasticity.  She  seemed  to  have  made  a  sinister 
resolve,  and  to  have  some  idea  of  the  method  of  carrying 
it  out. 

c  There  is  no  recovering  from  such  contempt  as  that,' 
she  said  to  herself ;  c  and  if  he  is  to  love  me  no  more,  I 
will  kill  him  !    No  other  woman  shall  have  him  ! 9 

c  No,  Abbe,  no  ! 9  cried  the  young  chief,  whose  voice 
made  itself  heard  •>  cit  must  be  so.' 

cMy  lord  Marquis,'  the  Abbe  Gudin  remonstrated 
stiffly,  c  you  will  scandalise  all  Brittany  by  giving  this 
ball  at  Saint  James.  Our  villages  are  not  stirred  up  by 
dancers,  but  by  preachers.  Have  some  small  arms,  and 
not  fiddles.' 

4  Abbe,  you  are  clever  enough  to  know  that  only  in  a 
•general  assembly  of  all  our  partisans  can  I  see  what  I  can 
undertake  with  them.  A  dinner  seems  to  give  a  better 
opportunity  of  scrutinising  their  countenances,  and  of 


222 


The  Chouans 


understanding  their  intentions,  than  any  possible  espion- 
age, which  is  moreover  abhorrent  to  me.  We  will  make 
them  talk,  glass  in  hand.' 

Marie  trembled  when  she  heard  these  words,  for  the 
idea  of  going  to  the  ball,  and  of  there  avenging  herself, 
occurred  to  her. 

i  Do  you  take  me  for  an  idiot,  with  your  sermon  against 
dancing  ! '  Montauran  went  on.    Would  not  you  your- 
self figure  in  a  chaconne  very  willingly  to  find  yourself 
re-established  under  your  new  name  of  Fathers  of  the 
Faith  ?     Do  you  really  not  know  that  Bretons  get  up 
from  mass  to  have  a  dance  ?     Do  you  really  not  know 
that  Messieurs  Hyde  de  Neuville  and  d'Andigne  had  a 
conference  with  the  First  Consul,  five  days  ago,  over  the 
question  of  restoring  his  majesty,  Louis  xviii.  ?    If  I  am 
preparing  at  this  moment  to  venture  so  rash  a  stroke,  it 
is  only  to  make  the  weight  of  our  iron-bound  shoes  felt 
in  these  deliberations.     Do  you  not  know  that  all  the  | 
chiefs  in  la  Vendee,  even  Fontaine  himself,  are  talking 
of  submission  ?    Ah  !  sir,  the  princes  have  clearly  been 
misled  as  to  the  condition  of  things  in  France.     The  \ 
devotion  which  people  tell  them  about  is  the  devotion  , 
of  place-men.    Abbe,  if  I  have  dipped  my  feet  in  blood, 
I  will  not  wade  waist-deep  in  it  without  knowing  where-  , 
fore.    My  devotion  is  for  the  King,  and  not  for  four  , 
crack-brained   enthusiasts,  for  men  overwhelmed  with  , 
debt  like  Rifoel,  for  chauffers  and  '  \ 

'Say  it  straight  out,  sir,  for  abbes  who  collect  imposts  c 
on  the  highways  so  as  to  carry  on  the  war  ! '  interrupted 
the  Abbe  Gudin.  s 

c  Why  should  I  not  say  it  ? '  the  Marquis  answered 
tartly.   4  I  will  say  more — the  heroic  age  of  La  Vendee  is  i 
past.'  ^  ;  || 

c  My  lord  Marquis,  we  shall  know  how  to  work  miracles  S( 
without  your  aid.'  n 

c  Yes,  like  the  miracle  in  Marie  Lambrequin's  case,*  8j 
the  Marquis  answered,  smiling.    c  Come,  now,  Abbe,  let  j 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  223 


us  have  done  with  it.  I  know  that  you  yourself  ^o  not 
shrink  from  danger,  and  you  bring  down  a  Blue  or  say 
your  oremus  equally  well.  God  helping  me,  I  hope  to 
make  you  take  a  part  in  the  coronation  of  the  King  with 
x  mitre  on  your  head.' 

This  last  phrase  certainly  had  a  magical  effect  upon  the 
Abbe,  for  there  sounded  the  ring  of  a  rifle,  and  he  cried — 

i  I  have  fifty  cartridges  in  my  pockets,  my  lord  Marquis, 
and  my  life  is  at  the  King's  service.' 

'That  is  another  debtor  of  mine,'  the  miser  said  to 
Mile,  de  Verneuil.  € 1  am  not  speaking  of  a  paltry  five 
or  six  hundred  crowns  which  he  borrowed  of  me,  but  of 
a  debt  of  blood,  which  I  hope  will  be  paid  in  full.  The 
fiendish  Jesuit  will  never  have  as  much  evil  befall  him  as 
I  wish  him  ;  he  swore  that  my  brother  should  die,  and 
stirred  up  the  district  against  him.  And  why  ?  Because 
the  poor  man  had  been  afraid  of  the  new  laws  ! ' 

He  put  his  ear  to  a  particular  spot  in  his  hiding-place. 

*  All  the  brigands  are  making  off ,'  he  said.  c  They  are 
going  to  work  some  other  miracle.  If  only  they  do  not 
attempt  to  set  fire  to  the  house,  as  they  did  last  time,  by 
way  of  a  good-bye  ! ' 

For  another  half-hour  or  thereabouts  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
and  d'Orgemont  looked  at  each  other,  as  each  of  them 
might  have  gazed  at  a  picture.  Then  the  gruff,  coarse 
voice  of  Galope-Chopine  called  in  a  low  tone,  c  There 
is  no  more  danger  now,  M.  d'Orgemont.  My  thirty 
crowns  have  been  well  earned  this  time  ! ' 

cMy  child,'  said  the  miser,  c  swear  to  me  that  you  will 
shut  your  eyes.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  laid  one  of  her  hands  over  her  eyelids  ; 
but  for  greater  security,  the  old  man  blew  out  the  lamp, 
took  his  liberatress  by  the  hand,  and  assisted  her  to  descend 
seven  or  eight  steps  in  an  awkward  passage.    After  a  few 

•  minutes,  he  gently  drew  down  her  hand,  and  she  saw  that 
she  was  in  the  miser's  own  room,  which  the  Marquis  of 
Moutauran  had  just  vacated. 


224 


The  Chouans 


*  You  can  go  now,  my  dear  child,*  said  the  miser. 
'  Do  not  look  about  you  in  that  way.  You  have  no  money, 
of  course.  See,  here  are  ten  crowns ;  clipped  ones,  but 
still  they  will  pass.  When  you  are  out  of  the  garden, 
you  will  find  a  footpath  which  leads  to  the  town,  or  the 
district,  as  they  call  it  nowadays.  But  as  the  Chouans 
are  at  Fougeres,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  you  could 
return  thither  at  once ;  so  you  may  stand  in  need  of  a 
safe  asylum.  Do  not  forget  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you, 
and  only  take  advantage  of  it  in  dire  necessity.  You 
will  see  a  farmhouse  beside  the  road  which  runs 
through  the  dale  of  Gibarry  to  the  Nid-aux-Crocs.  Big 
Cibot  (called  Galope-Chopine)  lives  there.  Go  inside, 
and  say  to  his  wife,  u  Good-day,  Becaniere  ! 99  and  Barbette 
will  hide  you.  If  Galope-Chopine  should  find  you  out, 
he  will  take  you  for  a  ghost,  if  it  is  night;  and  if  it  is 
broad  daylight,  ten  crowns  will  mollify  him.  Good-bye  ! 
Our  accounts  are  squared.  .  .  If  you  liked,'  he  added, 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  that  indicated  the  fields 
that  lay  round  ahout  his  house,  c  all  that  should  be 
yours  !  ' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  a  grateful  glance  at  this  strange 
being,  and  succeeded  in  wringing  a  sigh  from  him,  with 
several  distinct  tones  in  it. 

6  You  will  pay  me  back  my  ten  crowns,  of  course ; 
I  say  nothing  about  interest,  as  you  note.  You  can  pay 
them  to  the  credit  of  my  account,  to  Master  Patrat,  the 
notary  in  Fougeres,  who,  if  you  should  wish  it,  would  draw 
up  our  marriage  contract.    Fair  treasure  !  Good-bye.' 

c  Good-bye,'  said  she,  with  a  smile,  as  she  waved  her 
hand  to  him. 

( If  you  require  any  money,'  he  called  to  her,  c  I  will 
lend  it  to  you  at  five  per  cent.!  Yes,  only  five.  .  •  • 
Did  I  say  five  ?  '    But  she  had  gone. 

4  She  looks  to  me  like  a  good  sort  of  girl,'  d'Orgemont 
continued  ;  c  but  for  all  that,  I  shall  make  a  change  in  the 
secret  contrivance  in  my  chimney.' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  225 

Then  he  took  a  loaf  that  weighed  twelve  pounds,  and 
a  ham,  and  returned  to  his  hiding-place. 

As  Mile,  de  Verneuil  walked  in  the  open  country,  she 
felt  as  though  life  had  begun  anew.  The  chilly  morning 
air  against  her  face  revived  her,  after  so  many  hours 
during  which  she  had  encountered  a  close  atmosphere. 
She  tried  to  find  the  footpath  that  the  miser  had  described ; 
but  after  the  setting  of  the  moon,  the  darkness  grew  so 
dense,  that  she  was  compelled  to  go  as  chance  determined. 
Very  soon  the  dread  of  falling  over  a  precipice  took 
possession  of  her,  and  this  saved  her  life,  for  she  suddenly 
stopped  with  a  presentiment  that  if  she  went  a  step 
further  she  should  find  no  earth  beneath  her  feet.  A 
breath  of  yet  colder  wind  which  played  in  her  hair,  the 
murmur  of  streams,  and  her  own  instinct,  told  her  that 
she  had  come  to  the  brink  of  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice. 
She  cast  her  arms  about  a  tree,  and  waited  in  keen  anxiety 
for  the  dawn,  for  she  heard  sounds  of  armed  men,  human 
voices,  and  the  trampling  of  horses.  She  felt  thankful  to 
jthe  darkness  which  was  preserving  her  from  the  peril  of 
falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Chouans,  if,  as  the  miser  had 
told  her,  they  were  surrounding  Fougeres. 

A  faint  purple  light,  like  the  beacon-fires  lighted  at 
night  as  the  signal  of  Liberty,  passed  over  the  mountain 
tops  ;  but  the  lower  slopes  retained  their  cold  bluish  tints 
in  contrast  with  the  dewy  mists  that  drifted  over  the 
valleys.  Very  soon  a  disc  of  ruby  red  rose  slowly  on  the 
horizon,  the  skies  felt  its  influence,  the  ups  and  downs  of 
the  landscape,  the  spire  of  St.  Leonard's  church,  the  crags 
and  the  meadows  hidden  in  deep  shadow  gradually  began 
to  appear,  the  trees  perched  upon  the  heights  stood  out 
against  the  fires  of  dawn.  With  a  sudden  gracious 
start  the  sun  unwound  himself  from  the  streamers  of 
fiery  red,  of  yellow  and  sapphire,  that  surrounded  him. 
The  brilliant  light  united  one  sloping  hillside  to  another 
by  its  level  beams,  and  overflowed  valley  after  valley. 
The  shadows   fled   away,  and  all  nature   was  over- 

P 


226 


The  Chouans 


whelmed  with  daylight.  The  air  trembled  with  a 
fresh  breeze,  the  birds  sang,  and  everything  awoke 
to  life  again. 

But  the  young  girl  had  barely  had  sufficient  time  to 
look  down  over  the  main  features  of  this  wonderful  land- 
scape, when  by  a  frequently  recurring  phenomenon  in 
these  cool  parts  of  the  world  the  mists  arose  and  spread 
themselves  in  sheets,  filling  the  valleys,  and  creeping  up 
the  slopes  of  the  highest  hills,  concealing  this  fertile  basin 
under  a  cloak  like  snow.  Very  soon  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
could  have  believed  that  she  beheld  a  view  of  a  mer  de 
glace^  such  as  the  Alps  furnish.  Then  this  atmosphere 
of  cloud  surged  like  the  waves  of  the  sea,  flinging  up 
opaque  billows  which  softly  poised  themselves,  swayed  or 
eddied  violently,  caught  bright  rosy  hues  from  the  shafts 
of  sunlight,  or  showed  themselves  translucent  here  and 
there  as  a  lake  of  liquid  silver.  Suddenly  the  north  wind 
blew  upon  this  phantasmagoria,  and  dispelled  the  mists, 
which  left  a  rusty  dew  on  the  sward. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  then  see  a  huge  brown  patch, 
situated  on  the  rocks  of  Fougeres — seven  or  eight  hundred 
armed  Chouans  were  hurrying  about  in  the  suburb  of 
St.  Sulpice,  like  ants  on  an  ant  hill.  The  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  the  castle  was  being  furiously  attacked 
by  three  thousand  men  who  were  stationed  there,  and 
who  seemed  to  have  sprung  up  by  magic.  The  sleeping 
town  would  have  yielded,  despite  its  venerable  ramparts 
and  hoary  old  towers,  if  Hulot  had  not  been  on  the 
watch.  A  concealed  battery  on  a  height,  in  the  midst 
of  the  hollow  basin  formed  by  the  ramparts,  answered 
the  Chouans'  first  volley,  taking  them  in  flank  upon 
the  road  that  led  to  the  castle.  The  grape-shot  cleared 
the  road  and  swept  it  clean.  Then  a  company  made 
a  sortie  from  the  St.  Sulpice  gate,  took  advantage  of 
the  Chouans'  surprise,  drew  themselves  up  upon  the  road, 
and  opened  a  deadly  fire  upon  them.  The  Chouans 
did  not  attempt  to  resist  when  they  saw  the  ramparts 


AT~Day  without  a  Morrow  227 


covered  with  soldiers,  as  if  the  art  of  the  engineer  had 
suddenly  traced  blue  lines  about  them,  while  the  fire 
from  the  fortress  covered  that  of  the  Republican  sharp- 
shooters. 

Other  Chouans,  however,  had  made  themselves  masters 
of  the  little  valley  of  the  Nan^on,  had  climbed  the  rocky 
galleries,  and  reached  the  promenade,  to  which  they 
.mounted  till  it  was  covered  with  goatskins,  which  made 
it  look  like  the  time-embrowned  thatch  of  a  hovel.  Loud 
reports  were  heard  at  that  very  moment  from  the  quarter 
of  the  town  that  overlooks  the  Couesnon  valley.  Fougeres 
was  clearly  surrounded,  and  attacked  at  all  points.  A 
fire  which  showed  itself  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  rock 
showed  that  the  Chouans  were  even  burning  the  suburbs  ; 
but  the  flakes  of  fire  that  sprang  up  from  the  shingle  roofs  or 
the  broom-thatch  soon  ceased,  and  a  few  columns  of  dark 
smoke  showed  that  the  conflagration  was  extinguished. 

Black  and  brown  clouds  once  more  hid  the  scene  from 
Mile,  de  Verneuil,  but  the  wind  soon  cleared  away  the 
smoke  of  the  powder.  The  Republican  commandant 
had  already  changed  the  direction  of  his  guns,  so  that 
they  could  bear  successively  upon  the  length  of  the  valley 
of  the  Nan^on,  upon  the  Queen's  Staircase,  and  the  rock 
itself,  when  from  the  highest  point  of  the  promenade  he 
had  seen  his  first  orders  admirably  carried  out.  Two  guns 
by  the  guard-house  of  St.  Leonard's  gate  were  mowing 
down  the  ant-like  swarms  of  Chouans  who  had  seized 
that  position,  while  the  National  Guard  of  Fougeres, 
precipitating  themselves  into  the  square  by  the  church, 
were  completing  the  defeat  of  the  enemy.  The  affair 
did  not  last  half  an  hour,  and  did  not  cost  the  Blues  a 
hundred  men.  The  Chouans,  discomfited  and  defeated, 
were  drawing  off"  already  in  all  directions,  in  obedience  to 
repeated  orders  from  the  Gars,  whose  bold  stroke  had 
come  to  nothing  (though  he  did  not  know  this)  in  con- 
sequence of  the  affair  at  the  Vivetiere,  which  had  brought 
back  Hulot  in  secret,  to  Fougeres.     The  artillery  had 


228 


The  Chouans 


only  arrived  there  during  this  very  night ;  for  the  mere 
rumour  that  ammunition  was  being  transported  thither 
would  have  sufficed  to  make  Montauran  desist  from  an 
enterprise,  which,  if  undertaken,  could  only  have  a 
disastrous  result. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Hulot  had  as  much  desire  to  give 
a  severe  lesson  to  the  Gars  as  the  Gars  could  have  had  to 
gain  a  success,  in  the  moment  he  had  selected,  to  influence 
the  determinations  of  the  First  Consul.  At  the  first 
cannon-shot  the  Marquis  knew  that  it  would  be  madness 
to  carry  this  failure  of  a  surprise  any  further  from  motives 
of  vanity.  So,  to  prevent  a  useless  slaughter  of  his 
Chouans,  he  hastened  to  send  out  seven  or  eight  messen- 
gers bearing  orders  to  operate  a  prompt  retreat  at  every 
point.  The  commandant,  seeing  his  antagonist  with  a 
number  of  advisers  about  him,  of  whom  Mme.  du  Gua 
was  one,  tried  to  send  a  volley  over  to  them  upon  the 
rocks  of  St.  Sulpice,  but  the  place  had  been  selected  too 
cleverly  for  the  young  chief  not  to  be  in  security,  Hulot 
changed  his  tactics  all  at  once  from  the  defensive  to  the 
aggressive.  At  the  first  movements  which  revealed  the 
intentions  of  the  Marquis,  the  company  which  was  posted 
beneath  the  walls  of  the  castle  set  themselves  to  work  to 
cut  off  the  Chouans'  retreat  by  seizing  the  outlets  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  Nan§on  valley. 

In  spite  of  her  animosity,  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  sympathies 
were  with  the  side  on  which  her  lover  commanded.  She 
turned  quickly  to  see  if  the  passage  was  free  at  the  lower 
end.  But  she  saw  the  Blues,  who  had  no  doubt  been 
victorious  on  the  other  side  of  Fougeres,  returning  from 
the  Couesnon  valley,  through  the  dale  of  Gibarry,  so  as 
to  seize  the  Nid-aux-Crocs,  and  that  portion  of  the  crags 
of  St.  Sulpice  where  the  lower  exits  from  the  Nan^on 
valley  were  situated.  The  Chouans,  thus  shut  up  in  the 
narrow  space  of  meadow  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine, 
seemed  certain  to  be  cut  ofF  to  a  man  ;  so  accurately  had 
the  old  Republican  commandant  foreseen  the  event,  and 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  229 

so  skilfully  had  he  laid  his  plans.  But  the  cannon,  which 
had  done  Hulot  such  good  service,  were  powerless  upon 
either  point.  A  desperate  struggle  began,  and  the 
town  of  Fougeres  once  safe,  the  affair  assumed  the 
character  of  an  engagement  to  which  the  Chouans  were 
accustomed. 

Then  Mile,  de  Verneuil  understood  the  presence  of 
the  large  bodies  of  men  which  she  had  come  upon  in  the 
open  country,  the  meeting  of  the  chiefs  in  d'Orgemont's 
house,  and  all  the  occurrences  of  the  previous  night, 
and  was  unable  to  account  for  her  escape  from  so  many 
perils.  This  enterprise,  suggested  by  despair,  had  so 
keen  an  interest  for  her,  that  she  stood  motionless,  watch- 
ing the  moving  pictures  that  spread  themselves  beneath 
her  eyes.  The  fighting  that  went  on  at  the  foot  of  the 
hills  of  St.  Sulpice  soon  had  yet  another  interest  for  her. 
When  the  Marquis  and  his  friends  saw  that  the  Chouans 
were  almost  at  the  mercy  of  the  Blues,  they  rushed  to 
their  assistance  down  the  Nan^on  valley.  The  foot  of 
the  crags  was  covered  with  a  crowd,  composed  of  furious 
groups  who  were  fighting  out  the  issues  of  life  and  death 
— both  the  weapons  and  the  ground  being  in  favour  of 
the  goatskins.  Imperceptibly  the  shifting  battlefield 
expanded  its  limits.  The  Chouans  scattered  themselves 
and  gained  possession  of  the  rocks,  thanks  to  the  help  of 
the  shrubs  which  grew  here  and  there.  A  little  later 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  startled  by  the  sight  of  her  foes 
once  more  upon  the  summits,  where  they  strenuously 
defended  the  perilous  footpaths  by  which  they  had  come. 

As  every  passage  on  the  hill  was  now  in  the  possession 
of  one  side  or  the  other,  she  was  afraid  of  finding  herself 
in  among  them.  She  left  the  great  tree  behind  which 
she  had  been  standing,  and  took  to  flight,  meaning  to 
.  take  advantage  of  the  old  miser's  advice.  After  she  had 
hastened  for  some  time  along  the  slope  of  the  hills  of  St. 
Sulpice  which  overlooks  the  main  valley  of  the  Couesnon, 
she  saw  a  cowshed  in  the  distance,  and  concluded  that  it 


The  Chouans 


must  be  one  of  the  outbuildings  about  Galope-Chopine's 
house,  and  that  he  must  have  left  his  wife  by  herself 
while  the  fighting  went  forward.  Encouraged  by  these 
conjectures,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  hoped  to  be  well  received 
in  the  dwelling,  and  to  be  allowed  to  spend  a  few  hours 
there,  until  it  should  be  possible  to  return  to  Fougeres 
without  danger.  To  all  appearance,  Hulot  would  gain 
the  day.  The  Chouans  were  flying  rapidly,  so  that 
she  heard  gunshots  all  about  her,  and  the  fear  of  being 
struck  by  a  stray  ball  led  her  to  reach  the  cottage,  whose 
chimney  served  as  a  landmark,  without  delay.  The  path 
which  she  followed  led  to  a  sort  of  cart-shed.  Its  roof, 
thatched  with  broom,  was  supported  by  the  trunks  of 
four  great  trees  which  still  retained  their  bark.  There 
was  a  wall  of  daub  and  wattle  at  the  back  of  it.  In  the 
shed  itself  there  was  a  cider-press,  a  threshing-floor  for 
buckwheat,  and  some  ploughing  apparatus.  She  stopped 
short  beside  one  of  the  posts,  hesitating  to  cross  the  miry 
swamp,  that  did  duty  for  a  yard  before  this  house,  which 
afar  off,  she,  like  a  true  Parisian,  had  taken  for  a  cow-shed. 

The  cabin,  sheltered  from  the  blasts  of  the  north  wind 
by  a  knoll  that  rose  above  its  roof,  and  against  which  it 
was  built,  was  not  destitute  of  a  certain  poetry  of  its 
own,  for  saplings  and  heather  and  rock-flowers  hung  in 
wreaths  and  garlands  about  it.  A  rustic  staircase  con- 
trived between  the  shed  and  the  house  allowed  its 
inmates  to  ascend  the  heights  of  the  knoll  to  breathe  the 
fresh  air.  To  the  left  of  the  cabin  the  knoll  fell  away 
abruptly,  so  that  a  succession  of  fields  was  visible,  the 
first  of  which  belonged  in  all  probability  to  this  farm. 
A  border  of  pleasant  copse  wood  ran  round  these  fields, 
which  were  separated  by  banks  of  earth,  upon  which  trees 
had  been  planted.  The  nearest  field  completely  sur- 
rounded the  yard.  The  way  thither  was  closed  by  the 
huge  half-rotten  trunk  of  a  tree,  a  barrier  peculiar  to 
Brittany,  called  by  a  name,  which  later  on  will  furnish 
a  final  digression  on  the  characteristics  of  the  country. 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  231 

Between  the  staircase  that  had  been  cut  in  the  rock,  and 
the  track  which  was  closed  by  the  great  log,  and 
beneath  the  overhanging  rocks,  stood  the  cottage,  with 
the  swamp  before  it.  The  four  corners  of  the  hovel 
were  built  of  roughly  hewn  blocks  of  granite,  laid  one 
over  another,  thus  maintaining  the  wretched  walls  in 
position.  These  were  built  up  of  a  mixture  of  earthen 
bricks,  beams  of  wood,  and  flintstones.  Half  of  the  root 
was  covered  with  broom,  in  the  place  of  straw  thatch, 
and  the  other  half  with  shingles,  or  narrow  boards  cut  in 
the  shape  of  roofing  slates,  showing  that  the  house  con- 
sisted of  two  parts  ;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  one  part, 
divided  off  by  a  crazy  hurdle,  served  as  a  byre,  while  the 
owners  lived  in  the  other  division. 

Owing  to  the  near  vicinity  of  the  town,  there  were 
improvements  about  this  cabin  which  would  be  com- 
pletely lacking  anywhere  two  leagues  further  away  ;  and 
yet  it  showed  very  plainly  the  insecure  condition  of  life 
to  which  wars  and  feudal  customs  had  so  rigorously  sub- 
jected the  habits  of  the  serf,  that  even  to-day  many  of 
the  peasants  in  these  parts  still  call  the  chateau  in  which 
their  landlords  dwell,  the  House. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  studied  the  place  with  an  amaze- 
ment that  can  readily  be  imagined,  and  at  last  she  noticed 
a  broken  block  of  granite  here  and  there  in  the  mire  of 
the  yard,  arranged  to  afford  a  method  of  access  to  the 
dwelling,  not  unattended  with  danger.  But,  hearing 
the  sounds  of  musketry  drawing  appreciably  nearer,  she 
sprang  from  stone  to  stone,  as  if  she  were  crossing  a 
river,  to  ask  for  shelter.  Entrance  to  the  house  was 
barred  by  one  of  those  doors  that  are  made  in  two  separate 
pieces;  the  lower  part  being  of  solid  and  substantial 
timber,  while  the  upper  portion  was  protected  by  a 
•shutter,  which  served  as  a  window.  Shop-doors  in  certain 
little  towns  in  France  are  often  made  on  this  model,  but 
they  are  much  more  elaborate,  and  the  lower  portion  is 
supplied  with  an  alarm  bell.    The  lower  half  of  this  par- 


232 


The  Chouans 


ticular  door  was  opened  by  unfastening  a  wooden  latchet 
worthy  of  the  Golden  Age,  while  the  upper  part  was  only 
closed  during  the  night,  since  the  daylight  entered 
the  room  through  no  other  opening.  A  rough  sort  of 
window  certainly  existed,  but  the  panes  were  like  bottle 
ends,  and  the  massive  leaden  frames  which  supported  them 
took  up  so  much  room,  that  the  window  seemed  to  be 
intended  rather  to  intercept  the  light  than  to  afford  a 
passage  to  it. 

As  soon  as  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  made  the  door  turn 
on  its  creaking  hinges,  she  encountered  an  alarming 
ammoniacal  odour  which  issued  in  whiffs  from  the 
cottage,  and  saw  how  the  cattle  had  kicked  to  pieces 
the  partition  wall  that  divided  them  from  the  house-place. 
So  the  inside  of  the  farmhouse  (for  such  it  was)  was 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  outside.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
was  asking  herself  how  it  was  possible  that  human  beings 
should  live  in  such  confirmed  squalor,  when  a  tiny  ragged 
urchin,  who  seemed  to  be  about  eight  or  nine  years  old, 
suddenly  showed  a  fresh  pink  and  white  face,  plump 
cheeks,  bright  eyes,  ivory  teeth,  and  fair  hair  that  fell  in 
tangled  locks  over  his  half-naked  shoulders.  His  limbs 
were  sturdy,  and  in  his  attitude  there  was  the  charm  of 
wonder,  and  the  wild  simplicity  that  makes  a  child's  eyes 
grow  larger.  The  little  lad's  beauty  was  of  the  heroic 
order. 

c  Where  is  your  mother  ? 9  said  Marie  in  a  gentle  tone, 
as  she  stooped  down  to  kiss  his  eyes. 

After  receiving  the  kiss  the  child  slipped  away  like  an 
eel  and  disappeared  behind  a  manure  heap  which  lay 
between  the  path  and  the  house,  upon  the  slope  of  the 
knoll.  Galope-Chopine  was  wont,  like  many  other 
Breton  farmers  (who  have  a  system  of  agriculture  peculiar 
to  them),  to  pile  manure  in  high  situations ;  so  that  by 
the  time  they  come  to  use  it,  the  rain  has  washed  all  the 
goodness  out  of  it. 

Marie,  being  left  in  possession  of  the  cabin  for  some 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  233 


minutes,  quickly  made  an  inventory  of  its  contents. 
The  whole  house  consisted  of  the  one  room  in  which  she 
was  waiting  for  Barbette.  The  most  conspicuous  and 
pretentious  object  was  a  vast  fireplace,  the  mantelpiece 
being  made  out  of  a  single  slab  of  blue  granite.  The 
etymology  of  the  word  c  mantelpiece  *  was  made  apparent 
by  a  scrap  of  green  serge,  bordered  with  pale-green  ribbon, 
and  scalloped  at  the  edges,  which  was  hanging  along  the 
slab,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood  a  coloured  plaster  cast 
of  the  Virgin.  On  the  base  of  the  statuette,  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  read  a  couple  of  lines  of  religious  poetry  which 
are  very  widely  popular  in  the  district : — 

Protectress  of  this  place  am  I, 

The  Mother  of  God  who  dwells  on  high. 

Behind  the  Virgin  there  was  a  frightful  picture  splashed 
over  with  red  and  blue,  a  pretence  of  a  painting  that 
represented  St.  Labre.  A  bed  covered  with  green  serge, 
of  the  kind  called  tomb-shaped,  a  clumsy  cradle,  a  wheel, 
some  rough  chairs,  and  a  carved  dresser,  fitted  up  with 
a  few  utensils,  almost  completed  the  list  of  Galope- 
Chopine's  furniture.  Before  the  window  there  was  a 
long  table  and  a  couple  of  benches  made  of  chestnut  wood ; 
the  light  that  fell  through  the  panes  of  glass  gave  them 
the  deep  hues  of  old  mahogany.  Beneath  the  bung-hole 
of  a  great  hogshead  of  cider  Mile,  de  Verneuil  noticed  a 
patch  of  moist  yellowish  thick  deposit.  The  dampness 
was  corroding  the  floor,  although  it  was  made  of  blocks  of 
granite  set  in  red  clay,  and  proved  that  the  master  of  the 
abode  had  come  honestly  by  his  Chouan  nickname.* 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  raised  her  eyes  to  avoid  this  sight, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  forthwith  that  she  had  seen  all  the 
bats  in  the  world — so  numerous  were  the  spiders'  webs 
that  hung  from  the  beams.  Two  huge  pitchers,  filled 
with  cider,  were  standing  on  the  long  table.  These 
utensils  are  a  sort  of  brown  earthenware  jug  of  a  pattern 

*  Galope-Chopine,  literally,  Toss-pot.    Translator's  note, 


2J4 


The  Chouans 


which  is  still  in  use  in  several  districts  in  France,  and  which 
a  Parisian  can  imagine  for  himself  by  thinking  of  the  pots 
in  which  epicures  serve  Brittany  butter ;  but  the  body  of 
the  jug  is  rounder,  the  glaze  is  unevenly  distributed,  and 
shaded  over  with  brown  splashes,  like  certain  shells.  The 
pitcher  ends  in  a  mouth  of  a  kind  not  unlike  the  head  of 
a  frog  thrust  out  above  the  water  to  take  the  air.  The 
two  pitchers  had  attracted  Marie's  attention  last  of  all ; 
but  the  sound  of  the  fight  grew  more  and  more  distinct, 
and  compelled  her  to  look  about  for  a  suitable  hiding-place 
without  waiting  for  Barbette,  when  the  latter  suddenly 
appeared. 

(  Good-day,  Becaniere,'  she  said,  repressing  an  involun- 
tary smile  at  the  sight  of  a  face  that  rather  resembled  the 
heads  which  architects  set,  by  way  of  ornament,  in  the 
centres  of  window  arches. 

■  Aha !  you  come  from  d'Orgemont,'  answered  Barbette 
with  no  particular  eagerness. 

1  Where  will  you  put  me  ?  For  the  Chouans  are 
here  ' 

*  There  ! '  said  Barbette,  as  much  at  a  loss  at  the  sight 
of  the  beauty  as  well  as  of  the  eccentric  attire  of  a  being 
whom  she  did  not  venture  to  include  among  her  own  sex. 
c  There  !    In  the  priest's  hole  ! ■ 

She  took  her  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  and  put  her 
between  it  and  the  wall ;  but  both  of  them  were  thunder- 
struck just  then,  for  they  thought  they  could  hear  strange 
footsteps  hurrying  through  the  swamp.  Barbette  had 
scarcely  time  to  draw  one  of  the  bed-curtains  and  to 
huddle  Marie  in  it  before  she  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  a  fugitive  Chouan. 

i  Good-wife,  where  can  one  hide  here  ?  I  am  the 
Comte  de  Bauvan.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  trembled  as  she  recognised  the  voice 
of  the  dinner-guest,  who  had  spoken  the  few  words  (still 
a  mystery  for  her)  which  had  brought  about  the  catastrophe 
at  the  Vivetiere, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  235 


*  Alas  !  monseigneur,  you  see  there  is  nothing  here  ! 
The  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  go ;  but  I  will  watch,  and 
if  the  Blues  are  coming  I  will  give  you  warning.  If  I 
were  to  stop  here,  and  they  found  me  with  you,  they 
would  burn  my  house  down.' 

So  Barbette  went  out,  for  she  had  not  wit  enough  to 
reconcile  the  opposing  claims  of  two  foes,  each  of  whom 
had  an  equal  right  to  the  hiding-place,  by  virtue  of  the 
double  part  her  husband  was  playing. 

6 1  have  two  shots  to  fire,'  said  the  Count  despairingly, 
6  but  they  have  gone  past  me  already.  Pshaw  !  I  should 
be  unlucky,  indeed,  if  the  fancy  were  to  take  them  to  look 
under  the  bed  as  they  come  back. 

He  gently  lent  his  gun  against  the  bed-post,  beside 
which  Marie  stood  wrapped  about  with  the  green 
serge  curtain.  Then  he  stooped  down  to  make  quite 
sure  that  he  could  creep  under  the  bed.  He  could  not 
have  failed  to  see  the  feet  of  the  other  refugee,  who  in 
the  desperation  of  the  moment  snatched  up  his  gun, 
sprang  quickly  out  into  the  room,  and  threatened  the 
Count  with  it.  A  peal  of  laughter  broke  from  him, 
however,  as  he  recognised  her ;  for,  in  order  to  hide 
herself,  Marie  had  taken  off  her  enormous  Chouan  hat, 
and  thick  locks  of  her  hair  were  escaping  from  beneath  a 
sort  of  net  of  lace. 

c  Do  not  laugh,  Count ;  you  are  my  prisoner.  If  you 
make  any  movement,  you  shall  know  what  an  incensed 
woman  is  capable  of.' 

Just  as  the  Count  and  Marie  were  looking  at  each 
other  with  widely  different  feelings,  confused  voices  were 
shouting  among  the  rocks,  c  Save  the  Gars !  Scatter 
yourselves  !    Save  the  Gars  !    Scatter  yourselves  ! ' 

Barbette's  voice  rose  above  the  uproar  without,  and 
was  heard  by  the  two  foes  inside  the  cottage  with  very 
different  sensations,  for  she  was  speaking  less  to  her  own 
son  than  to  them. 

— '  Don't  you  see  the  Blues  ? '  Barbette  cried  tartly. 


The  Chouans 


c  Come  here,  you  naughty  little  lad,  or  I  will  go  after 
you  !  Do  you  want  to  get  shot  ?  Come,  run  away 
quickly.' 

While  all  these  small  events  were  rapidly  taking  place, 
a  Blue  dashed  into  the  swamp. 

c  Beau-Pied  ! '  called  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice  Beau-Pied  ran  up  and  took 
a  somewhat  better  aim  at  the  Count  than  his  liberatress 
had  done. 

*  Aristocrat,'  said  the  waggish  soldier,  c  do  not  stir,  or  I 
will  bring  you  down  like  the  Bastille,  in  a  brace  of 
shakes.' 

'  Monsieur  Beau-Pied,'  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  in  per- 
suasive tones,  c  you  are  answerable  to  me  for  this  prisoner. 
Do  it  in  your  own  way,  but  you  must  deliver  him  over  to 
me  at  Fougeres  safe  and  sound.' 

*  Enough,  madame  ! ' 

4  Is  the  way  to  Fougeres  clear  by  now  ? ' 

c  It  is  safe,  unless  the  Chouans  come  to  life  again.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  cheerfully  equipped  herself  with  the 
light  fowling-piece,  gave  her  prisoner  an  ironical  smile 
as  she  remarked,  c  Goodbye,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  we  shall 
meet  again ! '  and  went  swiftly  up  the  pathway,  after 
putting  on  her  great  hat  again. 

4 1  am  learning  a  little  too  late,'  said  the  Comte  de 
Bauvan  bitterly,  c  that  one  should  never  jest  concerning 
the  honour  of  women  who  have  none  left.' 

c  Aristocrat,'  cried  Beau-Pied  with  asperity,  4  say 
nothing  against  that  beautiful  lady,  if  you  do  not  wish 
me  to  send  you  to  your  ci-devant  paradise.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  returned  to  Fougeres  by  the  paths 
which  connect  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice  with  the  Nid-aux- 
Crocs.  When  she  reached  these  latter  heights  and 
hastened  along  the  winding  track  which  had  been  beaten 
out  over  the  rough  surface  of  the  granite,  she  admired  the 
lovely  little  Nan^on  valley,  but  lately  so  full  of  tumult, 
now  so  absolutely  peaceful.   Seen  from  that  point  of  view, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  237 

the  glen  looked  like  a  green  alley.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
returned  by  way  of  St.  Leonard's  gate,  where  the  narrow 
path  came  to  an  end. 

The  townspeople  were  still  in  anxiety  about  the 
struggle ;  which,  judging  by  the  firing  that  they  heard 
in  the  distance,  seemed  likely  to  last  through  the  day. 
They  were  awaiting  the  return  of  the  National  Guard 
to  know  the  full  extent  of  their  losses.  When  this  girl 
appeared  in  her  grotesque  costume,  with  her  hair  dis- 
hevelled, a  gun  in  her  hand,  her  dress  and  shawl  drenched 
with  dew,  soiled  by  contact  with  walls,  and  stained  with 
mud,  the  curiosity  of  the  people  of  Fougeres  was  all  the 
more  vividly  excited  since  the  authority,  beauty,  and 
eccentricity  of  the  fair  Parisian  already  furnished  the 
stock  subject  of  their  conversation. 

Francine  had  sat  up  all  night  waiting  for  her  mistress, 
a  prey  to  horrible  misgivings,  so  that  on  her  return  she 
wished  to  talk,  but  silence  was  enjoined  upon  her  by  a 
friendly  gesture. 

c  I  am  not  dead,  child,'  said  Marie.  c  Ah  !  when  I 
left  Paris  I  longed  for  emotions — and  I  have  had  them,' 
she  added  after  a  pause.  Francine  went  out  to  order  a 
meal,  remarking  to  her  mistress  that  she  must  be  in  great 
need  of  it. 

c  Oh,  no,'  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  c  but  a  bath,  a  bath  ! 
The  toilet  before  everything  else.' 

It  was  with  no  small  degreee  of  astonishment  that 
Francine  heard  her  mistress  asking  for  the  most  fashion- 
able and  elegant  dresses  that  had  been  packed  for  her. 

After  her  breakfast,  Marie  made  her  toilette  with  all 
the  minute  care  and  attention  that  a  woman  devotes  to 
this  most  important  operation,  when  she  is  to  appear 
before  the  eyes  of  her  beloved  in  the  midst  of  a  ballroom. 
Francine  could  not  account  in  any  way  for  her  mistress's 
mocking  gaiety.  There  was  none  of  the  joy  of  love  in 
it — no  woman  can  make  a  mistake  as  to  that  expression 
—there  was  an  ill-omened  and  concentrated  malice  about 


The  Chouans 


her,  With  her  own  hands  Marie  arranged  the  curtains 
about  the  windows,  through  which  her  eyes  beheld  a 
magnificent  view.  Then  she  drew  the  sofa  nearer  to  the 
fire,  set  it  in  a  light  favourable  to  her  face,  and  bade 
Francine  bring  flowers,  so  as  to  impart  a  festival  appearance 
to  the  room.  When  Francine  had  brought  the  flowers, 
Marie  superintended  her  arrangement  of  them  to  the  best 
advantage.  After  casting  a  final  glance  of  satisfaction 
round  her  apartment,  she  ordered  Francine  to  send  some 
one  to  demand  her  prisoner  of  the  commandant. 

She  lay  back  luxuriously  upon  the  sofa,  partly  to  rest 
herself,  and  partly  in  order  to  assume  a  graceful  and 
languid  pose,  which  in  certain  women  exerts  an  irresistible 
fascination.  There  was  an  indolent  softness  about  her  ; 
the  tips  of  her  feet  scarcely  escaped  from  beneath  the 
folds  of  her  dress  in  a  provoking  manner  ;  the  negligence 
of  her  attitude,  the  bend  of  her  neck — everything,  down 
to  the  curves  of  her  slender  fingers  that  drooped  over  a 
cushion  like  the  bells  of  a  spray  of  jessamine,  was  in 
unison  with  her  glances,  and  possessed  an  attractive 
influence.  She  burned  perfumes  so  that  the  air  was  per- 
meated with  the  sweet  fragrance  that  acts  so  powerfully 
on  the  nerves,  and  frequently  prepares  the  way  for  con- 
quests which  women  desire  to  make  without  any  advance 
on  their  part.  A  few  moments  later  the  heavy  tread  of 
the  old  commandant  was  heard  in  the  ante-chamber. 

4  Well,  commandant,  where  is  my  captive  ? ' 

c  I  have  just  ordered  out  a  picket  of  a  dozen  men  to 
shoot  him,  as  he  was  taken  with  arms  in  his  hands.' 

4  You  have  disposed  of  my  prisoner  ! 9  said  she.  c  Listen, 
commandant.  If  I  read  your  countenance  rightly,  there 
can  be  no  great  satisfaction  for  you  in  the  death  of  a  man 
after  the  engagement  is  over.  Very  well,  then  ;  give  me 
back  my  Chouan,  and  grant  him  a  reprieve.  I  will  take 
the  responsibility  upon  myself.  I  must  inform  you  that 
this  aristocrat  has  become  indispensable  to  me,  and  with 
his  co-operation  our  projects  will  be  accomplished.  More- 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow 


2.39 


over,  it  would  be  as  ridiculous  to  shoot  this  amateur 
Chouan  as  to  fire  on  a  balloon,  for  the  prick  of  a  pin  is  all 
that  is  needed  to  bring  about  its  entire  collapse.  Leave 
butchery  to  the  aristocrats,  for  heaven's  sake.  Republics 
should  show  themselves  to  be  magnanimous.  Would  not 
you  yourself  have  granted  an  amnesty  to  the  victims  at 
Quiberon  and  to  many  others  ?  Now,  then,  send  your 
doz^ii  men  to  make  the  rounds,  and  come  and  dine  with 
me  and  my  prisoner.  There  is  only  an  hour  of  daylight 
left,  and  you  see,'  she  added,  smiling,  '  that  if  you  delay, 
my  toilette  will  lose  all  its  effect.' 

'But,  mademoiselle  '  said  the  astonished  com- 
mandant. 

c  Well,  what  is  it  ?  I  understand  you.  Come,  the 
Count  will  not  escape  you.  Sooner  or  later  the  portly 
butterfly  yonder  will  scorch  himself  beneath  the  fire  of 
your  platoons.' 

The  commandant  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  like 
a  man  who  is  compelled  to  submit,  against  his  own  judg- 
ment, to  the  whims  of  a  pretty  woman.  He  returned  in 
the  space  of  half  an  hour,  followed  by  the  Comte  de  Bauvan. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  made  as  though  her  two  guests  had 
taken  her  by  surprise,  and  appeared  to  be  in  some  con- 
fusion at  being  detected  by  the  Count  in  so  careless  an 
attitude  ;  but  when  she  had  seen,  from  that  gentleman's 
eyes,  that  a  first  effect  had  been  produced  upon  him,  she 
rose  and  gave  her  whole  attention  to  her  visitors  with 
perfect  politeness  and  grace.  There  was  nothing  either 
constrained  or  studied  in  her  attitude,  in  her  smile,  her 
voice  or  her  manner,  nothing  that  betrayed  a  premedi- 
tated design.  Everything  about  her  was  in  agreement ; 
there  was  no  touch  of  exaggeration  which  could  give  an 
impression  that  she  was  assuming  the  manners  of  a  world 
with  which  she  was  not  familiar. 

When  the  Royalist  and  the  Republican  were  both 
seated,  she  looked  at  the  Count  with  an  expression  of 
severity.    The  nobleman  understood  women  sufficiently 


240 


The  Chouans 


well  to  know  that  the  affront  that  he  had  offered  to  hei 
was  like  to  be  his  own  death-warrant.  But  in  spite  of 
this  misgiving,  and  without  showing  either  melancholy 
or  levity,  he  behaved  like  a  man  who  did  not  look  for 
such  a  sudden  catastrophe.  It  soon  appeared  to  him  that 
there  was  something  ridiculous  about  fearing  death  in  the 
presence  of  a  pretty  woman,  and  Marie's  severe  looks  had 
put  some  ideas  into  his  head. 

4  Eh  ! 9  thought  he.  4  Who  knows  whether  a  Count's 
coronet  still  to  be  had  will  not  please  her  better  than  the 
coronet  of  a  Marquis  which  has  been  lost  ?  Montauran 
is  as  hard  as  a  nail,  while  I  '  and  he  looked  com- 
placently at  himself.  4  At  any  rate,  if  I  save  my  life,  that 
is  the  least  that  may  come  of  it.' 

These  diplomatic  reflections  were  all  to  no  purpose. 
The  penchant  which  the  Count  intended  to  feign  for 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  became  a  violent  fancy,  which  that 
dangerous  being  was  pleased  to  encourage. 

4  You  are  my  prisoner,  Count,'  she  said, 4  and  I  have  the 
right  to  dispose  of  you.  Your  execution  will  only  take 
place  with  my  consent ;  and  I  have  too  much  curiosity  to 
allow  you  to  be  shot  at  once.' 

4  And  suppose  that  I  maintain  an  obstinate  silence  ? '  he 
answered  merrily. 

4  With  an  honest  woman  perhaps  you  might,  but  with 
a  light  one  !    Come  now,  Count,  that  is  impossible.' 

These  words,  full  of  bitter  irony,  were  hissed  at  him 
4  from  so  sharp  a  whistle  '  (to  quote  Sully's  remark  con- 
cerning the  Duchess  of  Beaufort),  that  the  astonished 
noble  could  find  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  gaze  at  his 
cruel  opponent. 

4  Stay,'  she  went  on  with  a  satirical  smile,  4  not  to  gain- 
say you,  I  will  be  a  44  good  girl,"  like  one  of  those  creatures. 
Here  is  your  gun,  to  begin  with/  and  she  held  out  his 
weapon  to  xim  with  mock  amiability. 

4  On  the  faith  of  a  gentleman,  mademoiselle,  you  are 
doing  ' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  241 

*  Ah  ! '  she  broke  in, i  I  have  had  enough  of <c  the  faith 
of  a  gentleman  !  "  On  that  security  I  set  foot  in  the 
Vivetiere.  Your  chief  swore  that  I  and  mine  should  be 
in  safety  ' 

c  What  infamy  !  ■  exclaimed  Hulot  with  a  scowl. 

c  It  is  the  Count  here  who  is  to  blame,'  she  said,  address- 
ing Hulot,  and  indicating  the  noble.  cThe  Gars 
certainly  intended  to  keep  his  word ;  but  this  gentleman 
put  some  slander  or  other  in  circulation,  which  confirmed 
the  stories  which  it  had  pleased  Charette's  Filly  to  imagine 
about  me.' 

c  Mademoiselle,'  said  the  Count  in  dire  distress,  with 
the  axe  hanging  over  him,  4 1  will  swear  that  I  said 
nothing  but  the  truth  ' 

*  And  what  did  you  say  ? 1 

c  That  you  had  been  the  ' 

1  Speak  out !    The  mistress  ? ' 

c  Of  the  Marquis  of  Lenon court,  the  present  Duke,  and 
a  friend  of  mine,'  the  Count  made  answer. 

4  Now,  I  might  let  you  go  to  your  death,'  said  Marie, 
who  was  apparently  unmoved  by  the  Count's  circum- 
stantial accusation.  The  indifference,  real  or  feigned,  with 
which  she  regarded  its  opprobrium  amazed  the  Count. 
'But,'  she  continued,  laughing,  cyou  can  dismiss  for  ever 
the  ominous  vision  of  those  leaden  pellets,  for  you  have 
no  more  given  offence  to  me  than  to  that  friend  of  yours 
to  whom  you  are  pleased  to  assign  me  as — fie  on  you  ! 
Listen  to  me,  Count,  did  you  never  visit  my  father,  the 
Due  de  Verneuil  ? — Very  well  then  ' 

Considering,  doubtless,  that  the  confidence  which  she 
was  about  to  make  was  so  important  that  Hulot  must  be 
excluded  from  it,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  beckoned  the  Count 
to  her,  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear.  A  stifled 
exclamation  of  surprise  broke  from  M.  de  Bauvan  ;  he 
looked  at  Marie  in  a  bewildered  fashion  ;  she  was  leaning 
quietly  against  the  chimney  piece,  and  the  childish 
simplicity  of  her  attitude  suddenly  brought  back  the  whole 


242 


The  Chouans 


of  the  memory  which  she  had  partially  called  up.  The 
Count  fell  on  one  knee. 

4  Mademoiselle,'  he  cried,  4  I  entreat  you  to  grant  my 
pardon,  although  I  may  not  deserve  it.' 

4  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,'  she  said.  4 You  are  as 
irrational  now  in  your  repentance  as  you  were  in  your 
insolent  conjectures  at  the  Vivetiere.  But  these  mys- 
teries are  above  your  intelligence.  Only,'  she  added 
gravely,  4  you  must  know  this,  Count,  that  the  daughter  of 
the  Due  de  Verneuil  has  too  much  magnanimity  not  to 
feel  a  lively  interest  in  your  fortunes.' 

4  Even  after  an  insult  ? '  said  the  Count,  with  a  sort  of 
remorse. 

4  Are  there  not  some  who  dwell  so  high  that  they  are 
above  the  reach  of  insult  ?  I  am  of  their  number,  Count.' 

The  dignity  and  pride  in  the  girl's  bearing  as  she 
uttered  these  words  impressed  her  prisoner,  and  made 
this  affair  considerably  more  obscure  for  Hulot.  The 
commandant's  hand  travelled  to  his  moustache,  as  though 
to  turn  it  up  at  the  ends,  while  he  looked  on  uneasily. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  him  a  significant  glance,  as  if  to 
assure  him  that  she  was  not  deviating  from  her  plan. 

4  Now,  let  us  have  some  talk,'  she  went  on,  after  a 
pause.    4  Bring  us  some  lights,  Francine,  my  girl.' 

Skilfully  she  turned  the  conversation  on  the  times, 
which,  in  the  space  of  so  few  years,  had  come  to  be  the 
ancien  regime.  She  carried  the  Count  back  to  those  days 
so  thoroughly,  by  the  keenness  of  her  observations  and 
the  vivid  pictures  she  called  up ;  she  gave  him  so  many 
opportunities  of  displaying  his  wit,  by  conducting  her  own 
replies  with  dexterous  and  gracious  tact,  that  the  Count 
ended  by  making  the  discovery  that  never  before  had  he 
been  so  agreeable.  He  grew  young  again  at  the  thought, 
and  endeavoured  to  communicate  his  own  good  opinion 
of  himself  to  this  attractive  young  person.  The  mis- 
chievous girl  amused  herself  by  trying  all  her  arts  of 
coquetry  upon  the  Count,  doing  this  all   the  more 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  243 


dexterously,  because,  for  her,  it  was  only  a  game.  Some- 
times she  led  him  to  believe  that  he  was  making  rapid 
progress  in  her  regard  ;  sometimes  she  appeared  to  be 
taken  aback  by  the  warmth  of  her  own  feelings  ;  and 
displayed,  in  consequence,  a  reserve  that  fascinated  the 
Count,  and  which  visibly  helped  to  fan  his  extem- 
porised flame.  She  behaved  exactly  like  an  angler  who 
lifts  his  rod  from  time  to  time  to  see  if  the  fish  is  nibbling 
at  the  bait.  The  poor  Count  allowed  himself  to  be  caught 
by  the  innocent  way  in  which  his  deliverers  received  two 
or  three  rather  neatly  turned  compliments.  Emigration, 
the  Republic,  and  the  Chouans  were  a  thousand  leagues 
away  from  his  thoughts. 

Hulot  sat  bolt  upright,  motionless  and  pensive  as  the 
god  Terminus.  His  want  of  education  made  him  totally 
unapt  at  this  kind  of  conversation.  He  had  a  strong 
suspicion  that  the  two  speakers  must  be  a  very  witty 
pair ;  but  the  efforts  of  his  own  intellect  were  confined 
to  ascertaining  that  their  ambiguous  words  contained  no 
plotting  against  the  Republic. 

c  Montauran,  mademoiselle,'  the  Count  was  saying, 4  is 
well  born  and  well  bred  ;  he  is  a  pretty  fellow  enough  ; 
but  he  understands  nothing  of  gallantry.  He  is  too 
young  to  have  seen  Versailles.  His  education  has  been 
deficient ;  he  does  not  play  off"  one  shrewd  turn  with 
another ;  he  gives  a  stab  with  the  knife  instead.  He  can 
fall  violently  in  love,  but  he  will  never  attain  to  that  fine 
flower  of  manner  which  distinguished  Lauzun,  Adhemar, 
Coigny,  and  so  many  others.  He  has  no  idea  of  the 
agreeable  art  of  saying  to  women  those  pretty  nothings, 
which  are  better  suited  to  them,  after  all,  than  outbursts 
of  passion,  which  they  very  soon  find  wearisome.  Yes, 
although  he  may  have  made  conquests,  he  has  neither 
grace  nor  ease  of  manner.' 

1 1  saw  that  clearly,'  Marie  replied. 

c  Ah  ! '  said  the  Count  to  himself,  c  there  was  a  note  in 
her  voice  and  a  look  that  shows  that  it  will  not  be 


244 


The  Chouans 


long  before  I  am  on  the  best  of  terms  with  her ;  and 
faith  !  I  will  believe  anything  she  wishes  me  to  believe, 
in  order  to  be  hers.' 

Dinner  was  served  ;  he  offered  his  arm.  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  did  her  part  as  hostess  with  a  politeness  and 
tact  which  could  only  have  been  acquired  by  an  educa- 
tion received  in  the  exclusive  life  of  a  court. 

4  Leave  us/  she  said  to  Hulot,  as  they  left  the  table, 
c  he  is  afraid  of  you  ;  while,  if  I  am  left  alone  with  him, 
I  shall  very  soon  learn  everything  that  I  wish  to  know  ; 
he  has  reached  the  point  when  a  man  tells  me  everything 
that  he  thinks,  and  sees  things  only  through  my  eyes.' 

4  And  after  that  ? 9  asked  the  commandant,  who  seemed 
thus  to  reassert  his  claim  to  the  prisoner. 

4 Oh  !  he  will  go  free,'  she  said,  4  free  as  the  air.' 

4  But  he  was  taken  with  arms  in  his  hands  ' 

4  No,  he  was  not,'  said  she,  4  for  I  had  disarmed  him,' 
a  jesting  sophistry  such  as  women  love  to  oppose  to 
sound  but  arbitrary  reasoning. 

4  Count,'  she  said,  as  she  came  in  again,  4 1  have  just 
obtained  your  freedom ;  but  nothing  for  nothing  ! '  she 
went  on,  smiling,  and  turning  her  head  questioningly  to 
one  side. 

4  Ask  everything  of  me  that  you  will,  even  my  name 
and  my  honour  ! 9  he  cried,  in  his  intoxication,  4 1  lay  it 
all  at  your  feet.'  And  he  came  near  to  seize  her  hand,  in 
his  endeavour  to  impose  his  desires  upon  her  as  gratitude, 
but  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  not  a  girl  to  make  a  mistake 
of  this  kind.  So,  while  she  smiled  upon  this  new  lover, 
so  as  to  give  him  hope — 

4  Will  you  make  me  repent  of  my  confidence  in  you  ? ' 
she  said,  drawing  back  a  step  or  two. 

4  A  girl's  imagination  runs  faster  than  a  woman's,'  he 
answered,  laughing. 

4  A  girl  has  more  to  lose  than  a  woman.' 

4  True,  if  one  carries  a  treasure,  one  must  needs  be 
suspicious.' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  245 


4  Let  us  leave  this  kind  of  talk/  she  answered,  c  and 
speak  seriously.  You  are  giving  a  ball  at  Saint  James. 
I  have  heard  that  you  have  established  your  magazines 
there,  and  your  arsenals,  and  made  it  the  seat  of  your 
government.    When  is  the  ball  ?  • 

c  To-morrow  night.' 

c  It  will  not  astonish  you,  sir,  that  a  slandered  woman 
should  wish,  with  feminine  persistency,  to  obtain  a  signal 
reparation  for  the  insults  to  which  she  has  been  subjected, 
and  this  in  the  presence  of  those  who  witnessed  them. 
So  I  will  go  to  your  ball.  What  I  ask  of  you  is  to  grant 
me  your  protection  from  the  moment  of  my  arrival  to 
the  moment  of  my  departure.  I  do  not  want  your  word 
for  it,'  she  said,  seeing  that  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart. 
' 1  hold  vows  in  abhorrence  ;  they  seem  to  me  too  like 
precautions.  Simply  tell  me  that  you  undertake  to  secure 
me  against  any  infamous  and  criminal  attempts  upon  my 
person.  Promise  to  repair  your  own  error  by  giving  out 
everywhere  that  I  am  really  the  daughter  of  the  Due  de 
Verneuil  5  keeping  silence,  at  the  same  time,  about  the 
misfortunes  which  I  owe  to  the  lack  of  a  father's  protecting 
care  ;  and  then  we  shall  be  quits.  Eh  !  Can  a  couple 
of  hours'  protection  extended  to  a  woman  in  a  ballroom 
be  too  heavy  a  ransom  ?  Come,  come,  you  are  not  worth 
a  penny  more  than  that,'  and  a  smile  deprived  her  words 
of  any  bitterness. 

4  What  will  you  demand  for  my  gun  ? '  laughed  the 
Count. 

4  Oh  !  more  than  I  do  for  you  yourself/ 
•   'What  is  it?' 

'Secrecy.  Believe  me,  Bauvan,  only  a  woman  can 
read  another  woman.  I  am  positive  that  if  you  breathe 
a  word  of  this,  I  may  lose  my  life  on  the  way  thither. 
One  or  two  balls  yesterday  warned  me  of  the  risks  which 
I  must  encounter  on  the  journey.  Oh  !  that  lady  is  as 
expert  with  a  rifle  as  she  is  dexterous  in  assisting  at  the 
toilet.   No  waiting-woman  ever  undressed  me  so  quickly, 


246 


The  Chouans 


Pray  manage  things  so  that  I  may  have  nothing  of  that 
kind  to  fear  at  the  ball.' 

4  You  will  be  under  my  protection,'  the  Count  replied 
proudly.  4  But  perhaps  it  is  for  Montauran's  sake  that 
you  are  coming  to  Saint  James  ? ' 

4  You  wish  to  know  more  than  I  do  myself,'  she  said, 
laughing.  4  You  must  go,  now,'  she  added,  after  a  pause. 
CI  myself  will  be  your  conductor  until  you  are  out  of 
the  town,  for  you  have  made  the  war  one  of  cannibals, 
here.' 

4  But  you  take  some  interest  in  me,'  cried  the  Count. 
4  Ah  !  mademoiselle,  allow  me  to  hope  that  you  will  not 
be  insensible  to  my  friendship  ;  for  I  must  be  content 
with  that,  must  I  not  ? '  he  added,  with  the  air  of  a 
coxcomb. 

4  Come  now,  conjurer  ! '  she  said,  with  the  blithe  ex- 
pression that  a  woman  can  assume  when  she  makes  an 
admission  that  neither  betrays  her  real  feelings  nor  com- 
promises her  dignity.  She  put  on  her  pelisse,  and  went 
with  the  Count  as  far  as  the  Nid-aux-Crocs.  When 
they  reached  the  beginning  of  the  footpath,  she  said — 

4  Maintain  an  absolute  reserve,  sir,  even  with  the 
Marquis,'  and  she  laid  a  ringer  on  her  lips.  The  Count, 
emboldened  by  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  graciousness,  took  her 
hand ;  she  suffered  him  to  do  so,  like  one  who  grants  a 
great  privilege,  and  he  kissed  it  tenderly. 

4  Oh,  mademoiselle,'  he  cried,  when  he  saw  that  he  was 
quite  out  of  danger,  4  you  can  reckon  upon  me  through 
life  and  death  ?  Since  I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude 
almost  as  great  as  that  which  I  owe  to  my  own  mother, 
it  will  be  very  hard  to  feel  nothing  more  than  esteem  for 
you.' 

He  sprang  down  the  pathway.  Marie  watched  him  as 
he  scaled  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  nodded  approvingly, 
as  she  murmured  to  herself — 

4  That  fine  fellow  yonder  has  paid  me  for  his  life  more 
than  the  worth  of  his  life,     I  could  make  him  my 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  247 

creature  at  a  very  small  cost !  A  creature  and  a  creator  ! 
There  lies  the  whole  difference  between  one  man  and 
another  !  9  She  went  no  further  with  her  thought.  She 
gave  a  despairing  look  at  the  sky  above  her,  and  slowly 
returned  to  St.  Leonard's  Gate,  where  Hulot  and  Corentin 
were  waiting  for  her. 

'  Yet  two  more  days,'  she  cried ;  then  she  checked 
herself,  seeing  that  they  were  not  alone,  and  whispered 
the  rest  in  Hulot's  ears — '  and  he  shall  drop  down  beneath 
your  fire.' 

With  a  peculiar  jocose  expression  not  easy  to  describe, 
the  commandant  suddenly  drew  back  a  step  and  looked 
at  the  girl  before  him — there  was  not  a  shadow  of  remorse 
in  her  face  or  bearing.  It  is  wonderful  how  women, 
generally  speaking,  never  reason  over  their  most  blame- 
worthy actions ;  they  are  led  entirely  by  their  feelings ; 
there  is  a  kind  of  sincerity  in  their  very  dissimulation,  and 
only  among  women  is  crime  dissociated  from  baseness ; 
for,  for  the  most  part,  they  themselves  do  not  know  how 
the  thing  has  come  about. 

'  I  am  going  to  Saint  James,  to  a  ball  given  by  the 
Chouans,  and  ' 

cBut  that  is  five  leagues  away  from  here,'  Corentin 
put  in.    'Shall  I  escort  you  ? 9 

'You  are  very  much  taken  up,'  said  she,  'with  some- 
thing that  I  never  think  about  at  all — that  is  to  say, 
yourself.' 

The  contempt  for  Corentin  which  Marie  had  displayed 
was  eminently  gratifying  to  Hulot,  who  made  his  peculiar 
grimace  as  he  watched  her  disappear  in^the  direction  of 
St.  Leonard.  Corentin's  eyes  likewise  followed  her; 
but  from  his  face  it  was  evident  that  he  suppressed  the 
consciousness  of  a  superior  power  which  he  thought  to 
exercise  over  this  charming  woman's  destiny  ;  he  meant 
so  to  control  her  by  means  of  her  passions  that  one  day 
she  should  be  his. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  on  her  return,  betook  herself  at 


248 


The  Chouans 


once  to  considering  her  ball  dress.  Francine,  quite 
accustomed  to  obedience,  though  she  did  not  understand 
the  ends  which  her  mistress  had  in  view,  ransacked  the 
trunks,  and  suggested  a  Greek  costume.  Everything  at 
that  time  took  its  tone  from  ancient  Greece.  This 
toilette,  which  received  Marie's  approval,  could  be  packed 
in  a  trunk  that  could  easily  be  carried. 

c  I  am  setting  out  on  a  wild  errand,  Francine,  child  ; 
think  whether  you  would  rather  stay  here  or  go  with  me  ? ' 

4  Stay  here  ! '  cried  Francine ;  *  if  I  did,  who  would 
dress  you  ? ' 

4  Where  have  you  put  the  glove  that  I  gave  you  this 
morning  ? ' 
f  Here  it  is  ! ' 

*  Sew  a  bit  of  green  ribbon  upon  it ;  and  before  all 
things,  do  not  forget  to  take  some  money.' 

But  when  she  saw  that  Francine  had  newly  coined 
money  in  her  hand,  she  exclaimed,  c  That  in  itself  would 
be  the  death  of  us!  Send  Jeremiah  to  arouse  Corentin. 
.  .  .  No,  the  villain  would  follow  us  !  It  would  be 
better  to  send  to  the  commandant  to  ask  him  for  some 
crowns  of  six  francs  each,  for  me.' 

Marie  thought  of  everything  down  to  the  smallest 
detail,  with  a  woman's  foresight.  While  Francine  com- 
pleted the  preparations  for  her  incomprehensible  journey, 
she  occupied  herself  with  trying  to  imitate  the  cry  of 
the  screech  owl,  and  succeeded  in  imitating  Marche-a- 
Terre's  signal  in  a  manner  that  baffled  detection.  At 
midnight  she  passed  out  through  St.  Leonard's  Gate, 
reached  the  narrow  footpath  along  the  Nid-aux- Crocs ; 
and,  with  Francine  following  her,  she  ventured  across 
the  dale  of  Gibarry.  She  walked  with  a  firm  step ; 
for  so  strong  a  will  as  that  which  stirred  within  her 
invests  the  body  and  its  movements  with  an  inde- 
scribable quality  of  power.  For  women,  the  problem 
how  to  leave  a  ballroom  without  catching  a  cold  is 
of  no  small  importance ;  but  when  their  hearts  are  j 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  249 


once  possessed  by  passion,  their  frames  might  be  made 
of  iron.  Even  a  bold  man  would  have  hesitated  over 
such  an  enterprise ;  but  scarcely  had  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
begun  to  feel  the  attractions  of  the  prospect,  when  its 
dangers  became  so  many  temptations  for  her. 

c  You  are  setting  out  without  a  prayer  for  God's  pro- 
tection,' said  Francine,  who  had  turned  to  look  at  St. 
Leonard's  spire. 

The  devout  Breton  girl  stopped,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
said  her  Ave  to  St.  Anne  of  Auray,  beseeching  her  to 
prosper  their  journey,  while  her  mistress  stood  waiting, 
deep  in  thought,  gazing  alternately  at  the  childlike 
attitude  of  her  maid,  who  was  praying  fervently,  and 
at  the  effects  of  the  misty  moonlight,  as  it  fell  over  the 
carved  stone-work  about  the  church,  giving  to  the  granite 
the  look  of  delicate  filagree. 

In  no  long  time  the  two  women  reached  Galope- 
Chopine's  cottage.  Light  as  were  the  sounds  of  their  foot- 
steps, they  aroused  one  of  the  huge  dogs  that,  in  Brittany, 
are  intrusted  with  the  safe  keeping  of  the  door,  a  simple 
wooden  latch  being  the  only  fastening  in  vogue.  The 
dog  made  a  rush  at  the  two  strangers,  and  his  bark 
became  so  furious  that  they  were  compelled  to  retreat 
a  few  paces  and  to  call  for  help.  Nothing  stirred,  how- 
ever. Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  the  cry  of  the  screech-owl, 
and  then  the  rusty  hinges  of  the  cabin-door  creaked 
loudly  all  at  once,  and  Galope-Chopine,  who  had  risen  in 
haste,  showed  his  gloomy  countenance. 

.Marie  held  out  Montauran's  glove  for  the  inspection  of 
the  warden  of  Fougeres. 

4 1  must  go  to  Saint  James  at  once,'  she  said.  c  The 
Comte  de  Bauvan  told  me  that  I  should  find  a  guide  and 
protector  in  you.  So  find  two  donkeys  for  us  to  ride, 
my  worthy  Galope-Chopine,  and  prepare  to  come  with 
us  yourself.  Time  is  valuable ;  for  if  we  do  not  reach 
Saint  James  before  to-morrow  evening,  we  shall  neither 
see  the  Gars  nor  the  ball.' 


250 


The  Chouans 


Galope-Chopine,  utterly  amazed,  took  the  glove  and 
turned  it  over  and  over.  Then  he  lighted  a  candle  made 
of  resin,  about  the  thickness  of  the  little  finger,  and  the 
colour  of  gingerbread.  This  commodity  had  been  im- 
ported from  the  north  of  Europe,  and,  like  everything 
else  in  this  strange  land  of  Brittany,  plainly  showed  the 
prevailing  ignorance  of  the  most  elementary  principles  of 
commerce.  When  Galope-Chopine  had  seen  the  green 
ribbon,  taken  a  look  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  scratched  his 
ear,  and  emptied  a  pitcher  of  cider,  after  offering  a  glass 
to  the  fair  lady,  he  left  her  seated  upon  the  bench  of 
polished  chestnut  wood  before  the  table,  and  went  in 
search  of  two  donkeys. 

The  violet  rays  of  the  outlandish  candle  were  hardly 
strong  enough  to  outshine  the  fitful  moonlight,  that  gave 
vague  outlines  in  dots  of  light  to  the  dark  hues  of  the 
furniture,  and  to  the  floor  of  the  smoke-begrimed  hut. 
The  little  urchin  had  raised  his  pretty,  wondering  face ; 
and  up  above  his  fair  curls  appeared  the  heads  of  two 
cows,  their  pink  noses  and  great  eyes  shone  through  the 
holes  in  the  wall  of  the  byre.  The  big  dog,  whose  head 
was  by  no  means  the  least  intelligent  one  in  this  family, 
seemed  to  contemplate  the  two  strangers  with  a  curiosity 
quite  as  great  as  that  displayed  by  the  child.  A  painter 
would  have  dwelt  admiringly  on  the  effect  of  this  night- 
piece,  but  Marie  was  not  very  eager  to  enter  into 
conversation  with  the  spectre-like  Barbette,  who  was 
now  sitting  up  in  bed,  and  had  begun  to  open  her 
eyes  very  wide  with  recognition.  Marie  went  out  to 
avoid  the  pestiferous  atmosphere  of  the  hovel,  and  to 
escape  the  questions  which  the  'Becaniere'  was  about 
to  ask. 

She  tripped  lightly  up  the  flight  of  stairs  cut  in  the 
rock  which  overhung  Galope-Chopine's  cottage,  and 
thence  admired  the  endless  detail  of  the  landscape  before 
her,  which  underwent  a  change  at  every  step,  whether 
backwards  or  forwards,  towards  the  crests  of  the  hills  or 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  251 

down  to  the  depths  of  the  valleys.  Moonlight  was  spreading 
like  a  luminous  mist  far  and  wide  over  the  valley  of  the 
Couesnon.  A  woman  who  carried  a  burden  of  slighted 
love  in  her  heart  could  not  but  experience  the  feeling  of 
melancholy  that  this  soft  light  produces  in  the  soul— a 
light  that  lent  fantastic  outlines  to  the  mountain  forms, 
and  traced  out  the  lines  of  the  streams  in  strange  pale 
tints. 

The  silence  was  broken  just  then  by  the  bray  of  the 
asses.  Marie  hurried  down  to  the  Chouan's  cabin,  and 
they  set  out  at  once.  Galope-Chopine,  armed  with  a 
double-barrelled  fowling-piece,  wore  a  shaggy  goatskin 
which  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  Robinson  Crusoe. 
His  wrinkled  and  blotched  countenance  was  barely 
visible  beneath  his  huge  hat,  an  article  of  dress  to  which 
the  peasants  still  cling,  in  pride  at  having  obtained, 
after  all  their  long  ages  of  serfdom,  a  decoration  sacred  to 
the  heads  of  their  lords  in  times  of  yore.  There  was 
something  patriarchal  about  the  costume,  attitude,  and 
form  of  their  guide  and  protector ;  the  whole  nocturnal 
procession  resembled  the  picture  of  'The  Flight  into 
Egypt'  which  we  owe  to  the  sombre  brush  of  Rem- 
brandt. Galope-Chopine  industriously  avoided  the  high- 
way, and  led  the  two  women  through  the  vast  labyrinth 
made  by  cross-country  roads  in  Brittany. 

By  this  time  Mile,  de  Verneuil  understood  the  tactics 
of  the  Chouans  in  war.  As  she  herself  went  over  these 
tracks,  she  could  form  a  more  accurate  notion  of  the 
najure  of  the  country  which  had  appeared  so  enchanting 
to  her  when  she  viewed  it  from  the  heights ;  a  country 
presenting  dangers  and  well-nigh  hopeless  difficulties, 
which  must  be  experienced  before  any  idea  can  be  formed 
concerning  them.  The  peasants,  from  time  immemorial, 
have  raised  a  bank  of  earth  about  each  field,  forming  a 
flat-topped  ridge,  six  feet  in  height,  with  beeches,  oaks, 
and  chestnut  trees  growing  upon  the  summit.  The  ridge 
or  mound,  planted  in  this  wise,  is  called  ca  hedge'  (the 


252 


The  Chouans 


kind  of  hedge  they  have  in  Normandy) ;  and  as  the  long 
branches  of  the  trees  which  grow  upon  it  almost  always 
project  across  the  road,  they  make  a  great  arbour  over- 
head. The  roads  themselves,  shut  in  by  clay  banks  in 
this  melancholy  way,  are  not  unlike  the  moats  of  for- 
tresses; and  whenever  the  granite,  which  is  nearly  always 
just  beneath  the  surface  in  these  districts,  does  not  form 
an  uneven  natural  pavement,  the  ways  become  so  exces- 
sively heavy,  that  the  lightest  cart  can  only  travel  over 
them  with  the  help  of  two  yoke  of  oxen  and  a  couple  of 
horses;  they  are  small  horses,  it  is  true,  but  generally 
strong.  So  chronic  is  the  swampy  state  of  the  roads  that, 
by  dint  of  use  and  wont,  a  path  called  a  rote  has  been 
beaten  out  for  foot  passengers  along  the  side  of  the  hedge 
in  each  field.  The  necessary  transition  from  one  field  to 
another  is  effected  by  climbing  a  few  steps  cut  in  the 
bank  sides,  which  are  often  slippery  in  wet  weather. 

The  travellers  found  other  obstacles  in  abundance  to 
be  surmounted  in  these  winding  lanes.  Each  separate 
piece  of  land,  fortified  in  the  way  that  has  been  described, 
possesses  a  gateway  some  ten  feet  wide,  which  is  barred 
across  by  a  contrivance  called  an  echalier  in  the  West. 
The  echalier  is  either  a  trunk  or  a  limb  of  a  tree,  with  a 
hole  drilled  through  one  end  of  it,  so  that  it  can  be  set  on 
another  shapeless  log  of  wood  which  serves,  as  it  were, 
for  a  handle  or  pivot  upon  which  the  first  piece  is  turned. 
The  thick  end  of  the  echalier  is  so  arranged  as  to  project 
some  distance  behind  this  pivot,  so  that  it  can  carry  a 
heavy  weight  as  a  counterpoise,  a  device  that  enables  a 
child  to  open  and  close  this  curious  rustic  gate.  The 
further  end  of  the  tree  trunk  lies  in  a  hollow  fashioned  on 
the  inner  side  of  the  bank  itself.  Sometimes  the  peasants 
thriftily  dispense  with  the  stone  counterpoise,  and  let  the 
thick  end  of  the  trunk  or  limb  of  the  tree  hang  further  over 
instead.  This  kind  of  barrier  varies  with  the  taste  of 
every  farmer.  Very  often  the  echalier  consists  of  one 
single  branch  of  a  tree,  with  either  end  ensconced  in  the 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  253 


earth  of  the  bank.  Often,  again,  it  looks  like  a  square 
gate,  built  up  of  many  branches,  set  at  intervals,  as  if  the 
rungs  of  a  ladder  had  been  arranged  crosswise.  This 
kind  of  gate  turns  about  like  an  echalier^  and  the  other 
end  moves  upon  a  little  revolving  disc. 

These  'hedges'  and  echaliers  make  the  land  look  like 
a  vast  chessboard.  Every  field  is  a  separate  and  distinct 
enclosure  like  a  fortress,  and  each,  like  a  fortress,  is  pro- 
tected by  a  rampart.  The  gateways  are  readily  defended, 
and,  when  stormed,  afford  a  conquest  fraught  with  many 
perils.  The  Breton  has  a  fancy  that  fallow  land  is  made 
fertile  by  growing  huge  bushes  of  broom  upon  it  \  so  he 
encourages  this  shrub,  which  thrives  upon  the  treatment 
it  receives  to  such  an  extent  that  it  soon  reaches  the 
height  of  a  man.  This  superstition  is  not  unworthy  of 
a  population  capable  of  depositing  their  heaps  of  manure 
on  the  highest  points  of  their  fold  yards ;  and  in  conse- 
quence, one-fourth  of  the  whole  area  of  the  land  is  covered 
with  thickets  of  broom,  affording  hiding-places  without 
number  for  ambuscades.  Scarcely  a  field  is  without  its 
one  or  two  old  cider-apple  trees,  whose  low  overhanging 
branches  are  fatal  to  the  vegetation  beneath.  Imagine, 
therefore,  how  little  of  the  field  itself  is  left,  when  every 
hedge  is  planted  with  huge  trees,  whose  greedy  roots 
spread  out  over  one-fourth  of  the  space ;  and  you  will 
have  some  idea  of  the  system  of  cultivation  and  general 
appearance  of  the  country  through  which  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  was  travelling. 

It  is  not  clear  whether  a  desire  to  avoid  disputes  about 
landmarks,  or  the  convenient  and  easy  custom  of  shutting 
up  cattle  on  the  land  with  no  one  to  look  after  them, 
brought  about  the  construction  of  these  redoubtable 
barriers — permanent  obstacles  which  make  the  country 
impenetrable,  and  render  a  war  with  large  bodies  of 
troops  quite  impossible.  When  the  nature  of  the  land 
has  been  reviewed,  step  by  step,  the  hopelessness  of  a 
struggle  between  regular  and  irregular  troops  is  abun- 


254 


The  Chouans 


dantly  evident ;  for  five  hundred  men  can  hold  the 
country  in  the  teeth  of  the  troops  of  a  kingdom.  This 
was  the  whole  secret  of  Chouan  warfare. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  now  understood  how  pressing  was 
the  necessity  that  the  Republic  should  stamp  out  rebellion 
rather  by  means  of  police  and  diplomacy  than  by  futile 
efforts  on  the  part  of  the  military.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
what  was  it  possible  to  effect  against  a  people  clever 
enough  to  despise  the  possession  of  their  towns,  while 
they  secured  the  length  and  breadth  of  their  land  by  such 
indestructible  earthworks  ?  And  how  do  otherwise  than 
negotiate,  when  the  whole  blind  force  of  the  peasants 
was  concentrated  in  a  wary  and  audacious  chief?  She 
admired  the  genius  of  the  minister  who  had  discovered 
the  clue  to  a  peace  in  the  depths  of  his  cabinet.  She 
thought  she  had  gained  an  insight  into  the  nature  of  the 
considerations  which  sway  men  who  have  ability  enough 
to  see  the  condition  of  an  empire  at  a  glance.  Their 
actions,  which  in  the  eyes  of  the  crowd  seem  to  be 
criminal,  are  but  the  partial  manifestations  of  a  single 
vast  conception.  There  is  about  such  awe-inspiring 
minds  as  these  an  unknown  power  which  seems  to  belong 
half  to  chance  and  half  to  fate  ;  a  mysterious  prophetic 
instinct  within  them  beckons  them,  and  they  rise  up 
suddenly  ->  the  common  herd  misses  them  for  a  moment 
from  among  its  numbers,  raises  its  eyes,  and  beholds  them 
soaring  on  high.  These  thoughts  seemed  to  justify,  nay, 
to  exalt  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  longings  for  revenge  ;  her 
hopes  and  the  thoughts  that  wrought  within  her  lent  to 
her  sufficient  strength  to  endure  the  unwonted  fatigues  of 
her  journey.  At  the  boundary  of  every  freehold  Galope- 
Chopine  was  compelled  to  assist  the  two  women  to  dis- 
mount, and  to  help  them  to  scramble  over  the  awkward 
interval,  and  when  the  rotes  came  to  an  end  they  were 
obliged  to  mount  again  and  venture  into  the  miry  lanes 
which  the  approach  of  winter  had  already  affected.  The 
huge  trees,  the  hollow  ways,  and  the  barriers  in  these  low- 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  255 

lying  meadows,  all  combined  to  shut  in  a  damp  atmosphere 
that  surrounded  the  three  travellers  like  an  icy  pall.  After 
much  painful  fatigue  they  reached  the  woods  of  Marignay 
at  sunrise.  Their  way  became  easier  along  a  broad  forest 
ride.  The  thick  vault  of  branches  overhead  protected 
them  from  the  weather,  and  they  encountered  no  more 
of  the  difficulties  which  had  hitherto  impeded  them. 

They  had  scarcely  gone  a  league  through  the  forest, 
when  they  heard  a  confused  far-off  murmur  of  voices  and 
the  silvery  sounds  of  a  bell,  ringing  less  monotonously 
than  those  which  are  shaken  by  the  movements  of  cattle. 
Galope-Chopine  hearkened  to  the  soft  sounds  with  keen 
attention.  Very  soon  a  gust  of  the  breeze  bore  the 
words  of  a  psalm  to  his  ear.  This  seemed  to  produce  a 
great  effect  upon  him ;  he  led  the  weary  donkeys  aside 
into  a  track  which  took  the  travellers  away  from  the 
direct  road  to  Saint  James,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  the 
remonstrances  of  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whose  uneasiness 
was  increased  by  the  gloomy  condition  of  the  place. 
Enormous  blocks  of  granite,  with  the  strangest  outlines, 
lay  to  right  and  left  of  them,  piled  one  above  another. 
Huge  serpent-like  roots  wandered  over  these  rocks, 
seeking  moisture  and  nourishment  afar  for  some  few 
venerable  beeches.  Both  sides  of  the  road  looked  like  the 
huge  caves  which  are  famous  for  their  stalactites.  Ravines 
and  cavern-mouths  were  hidden  by  festoons  of  ivy ;  the 
sombre  green  of  the  holly  thickets  mingled  with  the 
brackens  and  with  green  or  greyish  patches  of  moss.  The 
travellers  had  not  taken  many  steps  along  this  narrow 
track  when  a  most  amazing  scene  suddenly  spread  itself 
before  Mile,  de  Verneuirs  eyes,  and  explained  Galope- 
Chopine's  pertinacity. 

A  kind  of  cove  rose  before  them,  built  up  of  huge 
masses  of  granite,  forming  a  semi-circular  amphitheatre. 
Tall  dark  firs  and  golden  brown  chestnut  trees  grew  on 
its  irregular  tiers,  which  rose  one  above  another,  as  in  a 
great  circus.     The  winter  sun  seemed  not  so  much  to 


256 


The  Chouans 


throw  its  light  as  to  pour  a  flood  of  pale  colours  over 
everything,  and  autumn  had  spread  a  warm  brown 
carpet  of  dry  leaves  everywhere.  In  the  very  centre  of 
this  hall,  which  seemed  to  have  had  the  Deluge  for  its 
architect,  rose  three  giant  Druidical  stones,  a  great  altar 
above  which  the  banner  of  the  church  was  set.  Some 
hundred  men,  in  fervent  prayer,  knelt,  bareheaded,  in 
this  enclosure,  where  a  priest,  assisted  by  two  other 
ecclesiastics,  was  saying  mass.  The  poverty  of  the 
sacerdotal  garb,  the  weak  voice  of  the  priest,  which  echoed 
like  a  murmur  in  space,  the  crowd  of  men  filled  with 
conviction,  united  by  one  common  feeling,  bending  before 
the  undecorated  altar  and  the  bare  crucifix,  the  sylvan 
austerity  of  the  temple,  the  hour  and  the  place,  lent  this 
scene  an  appearance  of  simplicity  which  must  have 
characterised  early  Christian  gatherings. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  stood  still  in  admiring  awe.  She 
had  never  before  seen  or  imagined  anything  like  this 
mass  said  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  this  worship  which 
persecution  had  driven  back  to  its  primitive  conditions, 
this  poetry  of  the  days  of  yore  brought  into  sharp  contrast 
with  the  strange  and  wild  aspects  of  nature,  these  kneeling 
Chouans,  armed  or  unarmed,  at  once  men  and  children- — 
at  once  cruel  and  devout.  She  recollected  how  often 
she  had  marvelled,  in  her  childhood,  at  the  pomps  which 
this  very  Church  of  Rome  has  made  so  grateful  to  every 
sense ;  but  she  had  never  been  brought  thus  face  to  face 
with  the  thought  of  God  alone — His  cross  above  the  altar, 
His  altar  set  on  the  bare  earth ;  among  the  autumn 
woods  that  seemed  to  sustain  the  dome  of  the  sky  above, 
as  the  garlands  of  carved  stone  crown  the  archways  of 
gothic  cathedrals ;  while  for  the  myriad  colours  of 
stained-glass  windows,  a  few  faint  red  gleams  of  sunlight 
and  its  duller  reflections  scarcely  lighted  up  the  altar,  the 
priest,  and  his  assistants. 

The  men  before  her  were  a  fact,  and  not  a  system  ; 
this  was  a  prayer,  and  not  a  theology.    But  the  human 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  257 


passions  which,  thus  restrained  for  a  moment,  had  left  the 
harmony  of  this  picture  undisturbed,  soon  reasserted 
themselves,  and  brought  a  powerful  animation  into  the 
mysterious  scene. 

The  gospel  came  to  an  end  as  Mile,  de  Verneuil  came 
up.  She  recognised,  not  without  alarm,  the  Abbe  Gudin 
in  the  officiating  priest,  and  hastily  screened  herself  from 
his  observation  behind  a  great  fragment  of  granite,  which 
made  a  hiding-place  for  her.  She  also  drew  Francine 
quickly  behind  it,  but  in  vain  did  she  endeavour  to  tear 
Galope-Chopine  away  from  the  post  which  he  had  chosen 
with  a  view  to  sharing  in  the  benefits  of  the  ceremony. 
She  hoped  to  effect  an  escape  from  the  danger  that 
threatened  her  when  she  saw  that  the  nature  of  the 
ground  would  permit  her  to  withdraw  before  all  the  rest 
of  the  congregation. 

Through  a  large  cleft  in  the  rock  she  saw  the  Abbe 
Gudin  take  his  stand  upon  a  block  of  granite  which 
served  him  for  a  pulpit,  where  he  began  his  sermon  with 
these  words :  c  In  nomine  Patris^  et  Filii^  et  Spiritus  sancti? 

The  whole  congregation  devoutly  made  the  sign  of 
the  Cross  as  he  spoke. 

4  My  dear  brethren,'  the  Abbe  then  began,  in  a  loud 
voice,  c  first  of  all  let  us  pray  for  the  dead  :  for  Jean 
Cochegrue,  Nicolas  Laferte,  Joseph  Brouet,  Francois 
Parquoi,  Sulpice  Coupiau,  all  of  this  parish,  who  died  of 
the  wounds  which  they  received  in  the  fight  at  La 
Pelerine  and  in  the  siege  of  Fougeres.  .  .  .  De  profundisj 
and  the  psalm  was  recited,  as  their  custom  was,  by  the 
priests  and  congregation,  who  repeated  alternate  verses 
with  an  enthusiasm  that  augured  well  for  the  success  of 
the  sermon.  When  the  psalm  for  the  dead  was  over,  the 
Abbe  Gudin  went  on  again  in  tones  that  grew  more  and 
more  vehement ;  for  the  old  Jesuit  was  well  aware  that 
an  emphatic  style  of  address  was  the  most  convincing 
form  of  argument  by  which  to  persuade  his  uncivilised 
audience. 


258 


The  Chouans 


c  These  defenders  of  God,  Christian  brethren,  have  set 
example  of  your  duty  before  you,'  said  he.  c  Are  you  not 
ashamed  of  what  they  may  be  saying  of  you  in  Paradise? 
Were  it  not  for  those  blessed  souls,  who  must  have  been 
welcomed  there  by  the  saints  with  open  arms,  our  Lord 
might  well  believe  that  your  parish  is  the  abode  of  heathen 
Mahometans !  Do  you  know,  my  gars,  what  is  said 
about  you  in  Brittany,  and  what  the  King  is  told  of  you  ? 
.  .  .  You  do  not  know,  is  not  that  so  ?  I  will  tell  you. 
They  say :  "  What  is  this  ?  Altars  have  been  overthrown 
by  the  Blues;  they  have  slain  the  rectors,  they  have 
murdered  the  King  and  Queen,  they  intend  to  take  the 
men  of  every  parish  in  Brittany,  to  make  them  Blues  like 
themselves,  and  to  send  them  away  from  their  parishes  to 
fight  in  far-off"  countries  where  they  run  the  risk  of  dying 
unshriven,  and,  therefore,  of  spending  eternity  in  hell. 
And  are  the  gars  of  Marignay,  whose  church  has  been 
burned  down,  waiting  with  their  arms  hanging  by  their 
sides  ?  Oho !  This  accursed  Republic  has  sold  the 
goods  of  God  and  of  the  seigneurs  by  auction,  and  divided 
the  price  among  the  Blues  ;  and  in  order  to  batten  itself 
on  money  as  it  has  battened  on  blood,  the  Republic  has 
issued  a  decree  which  demands  three  livres  out  of  every 
crown  of  six  francs,  just  as  it  demands  three  men  out  of 
every  six ;  and  the  men  of  Marignay  have  not  taken  up 
their  weapons  to  drive  the  Blues  out  of  Brittany  ?  Aha  ! 
Paradise  will  be  shut  against  them,  and  they  will  never 
save  their  souls  !  "  This  is  what  people  are  saying  about 
you.  It  is  your  own  salvation,  Christians,  that  is  at  stake ! 
You  will  save  your  souls  in  the  struggle  for  your  faith 
and  your  king.  St.  Anne  of  Auray  appeared  to  me 
herself  yesterday  at  half-past  two.  She  told  me  then  just 
what  I  am  telling  you  now.  "  Thou  art  a  priest  from 
Marignay  ?  " — "  Yes,  madame,  at  your  service." — "  Very 
good,  I  am  St.  Anne  of  Auray,  aunt  of  God,  as  we  reckon 
in  Brittany.  I  dwell  at  Auray,  and  I  am  come  hither  also, 
to  bid  thee  tell  the  gars  of  Marignay  that  there  is  no  hope 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  259 


of  salvation  for  them  if  they  do  not  take  up  arms.  So 
thou  shalt  refuse  to  absolve  them  from  their  sins  unless 
they  serve  God.  Thou  shalt  bless  their  guns,  and  those 
gars  who  shall  be  absolved  from  their  sins  shall  never 
miss  the  Blues,  for  their  guns  shall  be  holy ! "  She 
disappeared  beneath  the  Goose-foot  oak,  leaving  an  odour 
of  incense  behind.  I  marked  the  spot.  There  is  a 
beautiful  wooden  Virgin  there,  set  up  by  the  recteur  of 
Saint  James.  Moreover,  the  mother  of  Pierre  Leroi, 
who  is  called  Marche-a-Terre,  having  repaired  thither  in 
the  evening  to  pray,  has  been  healed  of  her  sufferings 
through  the  good  works  wrought  by  her  son.  There  she 
is  in  your  midst ;  you  can  see  her  with  your  own  eyes 
walking  about  without  help  from  any  one.  It  is  a 
miracle,  like  the  resurrection  of  the  blessed  Marie 
Lambrequin,  wrought  to  prove  to  you  that  God  will 
never  forsake  the  cause  of  the  Bretons  so  long  as  they 
fight  for  His  servants  and  for  the  King. 

4  So,  dear  brethren,  if  you  would  save  your  souls  and 
show  yourselves  to  be  defenders  of  our  lord  the  King,  you 
ought  to  obey  him  who  has  been  sent  to  you  by  the  King, 
and  whom  we  call  the  Gars,  in  everything  that  he  may 
command.  Then  you  will  no  longer  be  like  heathen 
Mahometans,  and  you  will  be  found,  with  all  the  gars  of 
all  Brittany,  beneath  the  banner  of  God.  You  can  take 
back  again,  out  of  the  Blues'  pockets,  all  the  money  that 
they  have  stolen,  for  since  your  fields  lie  unsown  while 
you  go  out  to  war,  our  Lord  and  the  King  make  over  to 
you  all  the  spoils  of  your  enemies.  Christians,  shall  it  be 
said  of  you  that  the  gars  of  Marignay  lag  behind  the  gars 
of  Morbihan,  the  gars  of  Saint-Georges,  of  Vitre  or  of 
Antrain,  who  are  all  in  the  service  of  God  and  the  King  ? 
Will  you  allow  them  to  take  everything  ?  Will  you 
look  on,  like  heretics,  with  folded  arms,  while  so  many 
Bretons  are  saving  their  own  souls  while  they  save  their 
King  ?  "  For  Me,  ye  shall  give  up  all  things,"  says  the 
gospel.    Have  not  we  ourselves  given  up  our  tithes 


260 


The  Chouans 


already  ?  Give  up  everything  to  wage  this  sacred  war ! 
You  shall  be  as  the  Maccabees,  you  will  be  pardoned  at 
the  last.  You  will  find,  in  your  midst,  your  rectors  and 
your  cures,  and  the  victory  will  be  yours  !  Christians, 
give  heed  to  this ! '  said  he  as  he  drew  to  an  end.  4  To-day 
is  the  only  day  on  which  we  have  the  power  of  blessing 
your  guns.  Those  who  do  not  take  advantage  of  this 
favour  will  never  find  the  Blessed  One  of  Auray  so 
merciful  at  another  time,  and  she  will  not  hear  them 
again,  as  she  did  in  the  last  war.' 

This  sermon,  supported  by  the  thunders  of  a  powerful 
voice  and  by  manifold  gesticulations,  which  bathed  the 
orator  in  perspiration,  produced  but  little  apparent  affect. 
The  peasants  stood  motionless  as  statues,  with  their 
eyes  fixed  on  the  speaker  ->  but  Mile,  de  Verneuil  soon 
saw  clearly  that  this  universal  attitude  was  the  result  of 
a  spell  which  the  Abbe  exerted  over  the  crowd.  Like  all 
great  actors,  he  had  swayed  his  audience  as  one  man,  by 
appealing  to  their  passions  and  to  their  interests.  Was 
he  not  absolving  them  beforehand  for  any  excesses  that 
they  might  commit  ?  Had  he  not  severed  the  few  bonds 
that  restrained  these  rough  natures,  and  that  kept  them 
obedient  to  the  precepts  of  religion  and  of  social  order  ? 
He  had  prostituted  the  priestly  office  to  the  uses  of  poli- 
tical intrigue;  but  in  those  revolutionary  times,  every  one 
used  such  weapons  as  he  possessed  in  the  interests  of  his 
party,  and  the  peace-bringing  cross  of  Christ  became  an 
instrument  of  war,  as  did  the  ploughshare  that  produces 
man's  daily  bread. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  saw  no  one  who  could  undersand 
her  thoughts,  so  she  turned  to  look  at  Francine,  and  was 
not  a  little  amazed  to  find  that  her  maid  was  sharing  in 
the  general  enthusiasm.  She  was  devoutly  telling  her 
beads  on  Galope-Chopine's  rosary ;  he,  no  doubt,  had 
made  it  over  to  her  during  the  course  of  the  sermon. 

c  Francine,'  she  murmured,  'are  you  also  afraid  of  being 
a  "  heathen  Mahometan  "  ? 9 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow 


261 


€  Oh  !  mademoiselle,'  answered  the  Breton  girl,  c  only 
look  at  Pierre's  mother  over  yonder,  she  is  walking  ' 

There  was  such  deep  conviction  in  Francine's  attitude, 
that  Marie  understood  the  secret  spell  of  the  sermon,  the 
influence  exercised  by  the  clergy  in  the  country,  and  the 
tremendous  power  of  the  scene  which  was  just  about  to 
begin.  Those  peasants  who  stood  nearest  went  up,  one 
by  one,  kneeling  as  they  oiFered  their  guns  to  the 
preacher,  who  laid  them  down  upon  the  altar.  Galope- 
Chopine  lost  no  time  in  presenting  himself  with  his  old 
duck  gun. 

The  three  priests  chanted  the  hymn  Vent  Creator, 
while  the  officiating  priest  enveloped  the  instruments  of 
death  in  a  thick  cloud  of  bluish  smoke,  describing  a 
pattern  of  intertwining  lines.  When  the  light  wind  had 
borne  away  the  fumes  of  incense,  the  guns  were  given 
out  again  in  order.  Each  man  knelt  to  receive  his 
weapon  from  the  hands  of  the  priests,  who  recited  a 
prayer  in  Latin  as  they  returned  it  to  him.  When  every 
armed  man  had  returned  to  his  place,  the  intense  enthu- 
siasm (hitherto  mute)  which  possessed  the  congregation 
broke  out  in  a  tremendous  yet  touching  manner — 

c  Domine,  salvum  fac  regem  !  .  . 

This  was  the  prayer  that  the  preacher  thundered  forth 
in  an  echoing  voice,  and  which  was  sung  twice  through 
with  vehement  excitement.  There  was  something  wild 
and  warlike  about  the  sounds  of  their  voices.  The  two 
notes  of  the  word  regem,  which  the  peasants  readily 
comprehended,  were  taken  with  such  passionate  force  that 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  could  not  prevent  her  thoughts  from 
straying  with  emotion  to  the  exiled  family  of  Bourbons. 
These  recollections  awoke  others  of  her  own  past  life. 
Her  memory  brought  back  festive  scenes  at  the  court 
where  she  herself  had  shone  conspicuous,  a  court  now 
scattered  abroad.  The  form  of  the  Marquis  glided  into 
her  musings.  She  forgot  the  picture  before  her  eyes ; 
and  with  the  sudden  transition  of  thought  natural  to 


262 


The  Chouans 


women's  minds,  her  scheme  of  vengeance  recurred  to  her, 
a  scheme  for  which  she  was  about  to  risk  her  life,  and  yet 
a  single  glance  might  bring  it  to  naught.  She  meditated 
how  to  appear  at  her  best,  at  this  supreme  moment  of 
her  career,  and  remembered  that  she  had  no  ornaments 
with  which  to  deck  her  hair  for  this  ball.  A  spray  of 
holly  at  once  attracted  her  attention,  and  the  thought  of 
a  wreath  of  its  curling  leaves  and  scarlet  berries  carried 
her  away. 

c  Aha !  '  said  Galope-Chopine,  wagging  his  head  to 
show  his  satisfaction.  c  My  gun  may  hang  fire  when  I 
am  after  birds,  but  when  I  am  after  the  Blues — never  ! ' 

Marie  looked  more  closely  at  her  guide's  countenance, 
and  saw  that  it  was  on  the  same  pattern  as  all  the  others 
which  she  had  just  seen.  There  seemed  to  be  fewer 
ideas  expressed  in  the  old  Chouan's  face  than  in  that  of  a 
child.  His  cheeks  and  forehead  were  puckered  with 
unconcealed  joy  as  he  looked  at  his  gun  ;  religious  convic- 
tion had  infused  an  element  of  fanaticism  into  his  elation, 
so  that,  for  a  moment,  the  worst  propensities  of  civilisation 
seemed  to  be  manifested  in  his  barbarous  features. 

They  very  soon  reached  a  village,  that  is  to  say,  a 
collection  of  four  or  five  dwellings,  like  Galope-Chopine's 
own.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  finishing  a  breakfast,  com- 
posed solely  of  bread  and  butter  and  dairy  produce,  when 
the  newly  recruited  Chouans  arrived.  The  recteur 
headed  these  irregular  troops,  bearing  in  his  hands  a 
rough  crucifix  transformed  into  a  banner,  and  followed 
by  a  gars,  who  was  full  of  pride  at  assisting  to  carry  the 
parish  standard.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  perforce  found  herself 
included  in  this  detachment,  which  was  on  its  way  to 
Saint  James,  and  consequently  protected  from  dangers  of 
all  kinds  ;  for  Galope-Chopine  had  been  happily  inspired 
to  make  an  indiscreet  avowal  to  the  leader  of  the  troop — 
how  that  the  pretty  garce  whom  he  was  escorting  was  a 
good  friend  to  the  Gars. 

It  was  growing  towards  sunset  when  the  three  travellers 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  263 

reached  Saint  James,  a  little  town  which  owes  its  name 
to  the  English,  by  whom  it  was  built  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  during  the  time  of  their  rule  in  Brittany.  Before 
they  entered  it,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  beheld  a  curious  scene 
of  warfare,  to  which  she  gave  but  little  heed,  for  she  was 
afraid  that  some  of  her  enemies  might  recognise  her,  and 
the  fear  quickened  her  pace.  Five  or  six  thousand 
peasants  were  bivouacking  in  a  field.  There  was  no 
suggestion  of  war  about  their  costumes,  which  were  not 
unlike  those  of  the  requisitionaries  on  La  Pelerine ;  on  the 
contrary,  the  disorderly  assemblage  of  men  resembled  a 
huge  hiring-fair.  A  careful  scrutiny  was  required  to 
ascertain  whether  or  no  the  Bretons  carried  arms  at  all ; 
for  their  guns  were  almost  hidden  by  the  goatskins  of 
various  patterns  that  they  wore,  and  in  many  cases  the 
most  conspicuous  weapons  were  the  scythes  with  which 
they  had  replaced  the  muskets  that  had  been  distributed 
among  them.  Some  were  eating  and  drinking,  some 
were  brawling  and  fighting,  but  the  greater  number  were 
lying  asleep  upon  the  ground.  There  was  no  sign  or 
trace  of  order  or  of  discipline.  An  officer  in  a  red  uniform 
attracted  Mile,  de  Verneuirs  attention  ;  she  thought  that 
he  must  belong  to  the  English  army.  Further  on,  two 
other  officers  appeared  to  be  bent  on  teaching  a  few  of 
the  Chouans,  who  seemed  to  be  quicker-witted  than 
their  fellows,  how  to  handle  a  couple  of  cannon,  of 
which  the  whole  artillery  of  the  future  Royalist  army 
appeared  to  consist. 

The  gars  from  Marignay  were  recognised  by  their 
standard,  and  welcomed  with  uproarious  yells.  Under 
cover  of  the  bustle  made  in  the  camp  by  the  arrival  of 
the  troop  and  its  recteurs^  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  able  to 
make  her  way  across  it,  and  into  the  town,  in  safety. 
She  reached  an  unpretending  inn,  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  house  where  the  ball  was  given.  The  town  was 
so  crowded  with  people  that,  after  the  greatest  imagin- 
able difficulty,  she  could  only  succeed  in  obtaining  a 


264 


The  Chouans 


wretched  little  room.  When  she  had  taken  possession  of 
it,  and  Galope-Chopine  had  given  over  the  box  that  carried 
her  mistress's  costume  into  Francine's  keeping,  he  stood 
waiting  and  hesitating  in  a  manner  that  cannot  be 
described.  At  any  other  time  Mile,  de  Verneuil  would 
have  been  diverted  by  the  spectacle  of  the  Breton  peasant 
out  of  his  own  parish  ;  but  now  she  broke  the  charm  by 
drawing  from  her  purse  four  crowns  of  six  francs  each, 
which  she  handed  over  to  him. 

4  Take  them  !  •  said  she  to  Galope-Chopine  ;  c  and  if 
you  wish  to  oblige  me,  you  will  return  at  once  to 
Fougeres  without  tasting  cider,  or  passing  through  the 
camp.' 

The  Chouan,  in  amazement  at  such  open-handedness, 
was  looking  alternately  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and  at  the 
four  crowns  which  he  had  received,  but  she  dismissed  him 
with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  and  he  vanished. 

c  How  can  you  send  him  away,  mademoiselle  ?  *  asked 
Francine.  cDid  you  not  see  how  the  town  is  sur- 
rounded ?  How  are  we  to  leave  it,  and  who  will  protect 
you  here  ? ' 

c  Have  you  not  a  protector  of  your  own  ? '  said  Mile, 
de  Verneuil,  with  a  low  mocking  whistle  after  the  manner 
of  Marche-a-Terre,  whose  ways  she  tried  to  mimic. 

Francine  blushed  and  smiled  sadly  at  her  mistress's 
high  spirits. 

c  But  where  is  your  protector  ? '  she  said. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  rapidly  drew  out  her  dagger  and 
showed  it  to  the  frightened  Breton  maid,  who  sank 
down  into  a  chair  and  clasped  her  hands. 

c  What  have  you  come  to  look  for  here,  Marie  ? '  she 
exclaimed  ;  there  was  a  note  of  entreaty  in  her  voice 
which  called  for  no  response.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was 
absorbed  in  bending  and  twisting  the  sprays  of  holly 
which  she  had  gathered  ;  she  said — 

i  I  am  not  sure  that  the  holly  will  look  very  pretty 
in  my  hair.     Only  a  face  as  radiant  as  mine  could 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  265 


bear  such  a  sombre  adornment.  What  do  you  think, 
Francine  ? ' 

Such  remarks  as  this,  made  many  times  in  the  course  of 
her  toilette,  showed  that  her  mind  was  absolutely  free 
from  preoccupation.  Any  one  who  had  overheard  this 
strange  girl  would  hardly  have  believed  in  the  gravity  of 
the  crisis  in  which  she  was  risking  her  life. 

A  somewhat  short  gown  of  Indian  muslin  revealed  the 
delicate  outlines  of  her  figure,  to  which  it  clung  like 
damp  linen.  Over  this  she  wore  a  red  overskirt,  with 
innumerable  drooping  folds,  that  fell  gradually  lower  and 
lower  towards  one  side,  thus  preserving  the  graceful  out- 
lines of  the  Greek  chiton.  The  sensuous  beauty  of  this 
garb  of  a  pagan  priestess  made  the  costume,  a  costume 
which  the  fashion  of  those  days  permitted  women  to 
wear,  less  indelicate  ;  and,  as  a  further  palliation,  Marie 
wound  gauze  about  her  white  shoulders  which  the  low 
lines  of  the  tunic  had  left  too  bare.  She  knotted  up  the 
long  locks  of  her  hair  at  the  back  of  her  head  in  the 
irregular  flattened  cone  that,  by  apparently  adding  length 
to  the  head,  lends  such  charm  to  the  faces  of  classical 
statues  j  reserving  for  her  forehead  a  few  long  curls  that 
fell  on  either  side  of  her  face  in  shining  coils.  Thus 
robed,  and  with  her  hair  arranged  thus,  her  resemblance 
to  the  greatest  masterpieces  of  the  Greek  chisel  was 
complete.  She  saw  how  every  detail  in  the  disposition 
of  her  hair  set  off*  the  loveliness  of  her  face,  wTith  a  smile 
that  denoted  her  approval ;  then  she  crowned  herself  with 
the  wreath  of  holly  which  she  had  twisted.  The  red 
colour  of  her  tunic  was  repeated  in  her  hair  with  the 
happiest  effect  by  the  thick  clusters  of  scarlet  berries. 
As  she  twisted  back  a  few  of  the  leaves  so  as  to  secure 
a  fanciful  contrast  between  their  upper  and  under 
sides,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  flung  a  glance  over  herself 
in  the  mirror,  criticising  the  general  effect  of  her 
toilette. 

'I  am  hideous  to-night,'  she  exclaimed,  as  though  she 


266 


The  Chouans 


had  been  surrounded  by  flatterers.  4 1  look  like  a  statue 
of  Liberty.' 

She  was  careful  to  set  her  dagger  in  her  corset,  leaving 
the  ruby-ornamented  hilt  protruding,  so  that  the  crimson 
gleams  might  draw  the  eye  to  the  beauties  which  her 
rival  had  so  unworthily  profaned.  Francine  could  not 
reconcile  herself  to  parting  from  her  mistress.  When 
she  was  quite  ready  to  start,  the  maid  was  ready  to 
accompany  her,  finding  an  excuse  in  the  difficulties  that 
women  necessarily  encounter  in  going  to  a  dance  in 
a  little  town  in  Lower  Brittany.  Would  she  not  be 
required  to  uncloak  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  to  take  off  the 
overshoes  which  the  filthy  condition  of  the  streets  had 
rendered  imperative  (albeit  sand  had  been  laid  down), 
and  to  remove  the  gauze  veil  that  her  mistress  had  wound 
about  her  head,  so  as  to  screen  herself  from  the  curious 
eyes  of  the  Chouans,  who  had  been  drawn  by  curiosity 
to  surround  the  house  where  the  dance  was  taking  place? 
The  crowd  was  so  dense  that  they  went  between  two 
hedges  of  Chouans.  Francine  no  longer  tried  to  keep 
her  mistress  back.  After  rendering  the  final  necessary 
assistance  demanded  by  a  toilette  in  which  unruffled 
freshness  was  a  first  requirement,  she  stayed  on  in  the 
courtyard.  She  could  not  leave  her  mistress  to  the 
chances  of  fate  without  being  at  hand  to  fly  to  her 
assistance,  for  the  poor  Breton  maid  foresaw  nothing  but 
calamities. 

A  strange  scene  was  taking  place  in  Montauran's 
room  at  the  time  of  Marie's  arrival  at  the  festival.  The 
young  Marquis  was  almost  dressed,  and  was  donning  the 
broad  red  ribbon  that  was  to  mark  him  out  as  the  most 
important  personage  among  those  assembled,  when  the 
Abbe  Gudin  came  in  with  an  anxious  face. 

c  Come  quickly,  my  lord  Marquis,'  said  he.  c  You 
alone  can  calm  the  storm  that  has  arisen  among  the 
chiefs.  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  all  about.  They  are 
talking  of  withdrawing  from  the  King's  service.    It  is 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  267 


that  devil  of  a  Rifoel  who  is  the  cause  of  the  trouble,  I 
think.  There  is  always  some  piece  of  foolery  at  the 
bottom  of  these  disputes.  They  say  that  Mme.  du  Gua 
upbraided  him  for  coming  to  the  ball  in  an  unsuitable 
dress.' 

4  The  woman  must  be  crazy,'  exclaimed  the  Marquis, 
c  to  expect  ' 

'The  Chevalier  du  Vissard,'  the  Abbe  went  on, 
interrupting  him,  c  retorted  that  if  you  had  given  him 
the  money,  promised  to  him  in  the  King's  name  ' 

c  Enough,  enough,  Abbe  !  Now  I  understand  every- 
thing. The  scene  had  been  got  up  beforehand,  had  it 
not  ?    And  you  are  their  spokesman  ' 

'  7,  my  lord  Marquis  ? '  the  Abbe  broke  in  with  yet 
another  interruption,  CI  will  support  you  vigorously. 
I  hope  that  you  will  believe,  in  fairness  to  me,  that  the 
prospect  of  the  re-establishment  of  the  altar  throughout 
France,  and  of  the  restoration  of  the  King  to  the  throne 
of  his  forefathers,  holds  out  far  greater  inducements 
to  my  humble  efforts  than  that  Archbishopric  of  Rennes 
which  you  ' 

The  Abbe  dared  not  go  any  further,  for  at  these  words 
a  bitter  smile  stole  over  the  lips  of  the  Marquis.  But 
the  young  chief  at  once  suppressed  the  gloomy  reflections 
that  occurred  to  him.  With  austere  brows  he  followed 
the  Abbe  Gudin  into  a  large  room  that  echoed  with 
vehement  clamour. 

c  I  own  the  authority  of  no  one  present,'  Rifoel  was 
crying  out.  He  flung  fiery  glances  on  those  about  him, 
and  his  hand  was  finding  the  way  to  the  hilt  of  his 
sabre. 

4  Do  you  own  the  authority  of  common  sense?'  asked 
the  Marquis,  coolly.  The  young  Chevalier  du  Vissard, 
better  known  by  his  patronymic  of  Rifoel,  kept  silence  in 
the  presence  of  the  general  of  the  Catholic  armies. 

c  What  is  the  matter  now,  gentlemen  ? '  the  young 
chief  demanded,  as  he  scanned  the  faces  about  him. 


268 


The  Chouans 


'The  matter,  my  lord  Marquis/  replied  a  notorious 
smuggler — embarrassed  at  first  like  a  man  of  the  people 
who  has  long  been  overawed  by  the  prestige  of  a  great 
lord,  but  who  loses  all  sense  of  restraint  the  moment 
that  the  boundary  line  that  separates  the  pair  has  been 
overstepped,  because  thenceforth  he  regards  him  as 
their  equal — 4  the  matter  is  that  you  have  come  in 
the  nick  of  time.  I  cannot  talk  in  fine  golden  words, 
so  I  will  put  it  roundly.  I  had  five  hundred  men  under 
me  all  through  the  last  war,  and  since  we  have  taken  up 
arms  again  I  have  managed  to  find,  for  the  King's  service, 
a  thousand  heads  quite  as  hard  as  my  own.  All  along, 
for  seven  years  past,  I  have  been  risking  my  life  in  the 
good  cause  -9  I  do  not  blame  you  at  all,  but  all  work  ought 
to  be  paid  for.  Therefore,  to  begin  with,  I  wish  to  be 
called  M.  de  Cottereau  ■>  and  I  wish  to  be  requited  by 
the  rank  of  colonel,  otherwise  I  shall  offer  my  submission 
to  the  First  Consul.  My  men  and  I,  you  see,  my  lord 
Marquis,  are  always  dunned  by  a  cursedly  pressing  creditor 
who  must  be  satisfied.  Here  he  is ! '  he  added,  striking 
his  stomach. 

c  Have  the  fiddles  arrived  ? '  Montauran  inquired  of 
Mme.  du  Gua  in  caustic  tones. 

But  the  smuggler,  in  his  brutal  way,  had  opened  up 
too  all-important  a  question  -}  and  these  natures,  as 
calculating  as  ambitious,  had  been  too  long  in  suspense  as 
to  their  prospects  in  the  King's  service  for  the  scene  to 
be  cut  short  by  the  young  leader's  scorn.  The  young 
Chevalier  du  Vissard,  in  his  heat  and  excitement,  sprang 
to  confront  Montauran,  and  seized  his  hand  to  prevent 
him  from  turning  away. 

1  Take  care,  my  lord  Marquis  ! '  he  said.  c  You  are 
treating  too  lightly  men  who  have  some  claim  to  the 
gratitude  of  him  whom  you  represent  here.  We  are 
aware  that  His  Majesty  has  given  you  full  power  to 
recognise  the  services  we  have  rendered,  which  ought  to 
be  rewarded  either  in  this  world  or  in  the  next — for  the 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  269 


scaffold  is  prepared  for  us  daily.    As  for  me,  I  am  sure 

that  the  rank  of  marechal  de  camp  ' 

4  Of  colonel,  you  mean  ? ' 

c  No,  my  lord  Marquis,  Charette  made  me  a  colonel. 
My  claim  to  the  rank  I  have  spoken  of  cannot  be  dis- 
puted. Still  I  am  not  urging  my  own  claims  just  now 
in  any  way,  but  those  of  my  dauntless  brothers  in  arms, 
whose  services  stand  in  need  of  acknowledgment. 
Hitherto  your  promises  and  your  personal  guarantees 
have  satisfied  them ; '  he  lowered  his  voice  as  he  added, 
cand  I  must  say  that  they  are  easily  contented.  But,' 
and  he  raised  his  voice  again,  6  when  the  sun  shall  rise  at 
last  in  the  Chateau  of  Versailles  to  shine  upon  the  happy 
days  of  the  monarchy  to  come,  will  all  the  King's 
faithful  servants  in  France,  who  have  aided  the  King  to 
recover  France,  readily  obtain  his  favour  for  their 
families  ?  Will  their  widows  receive  pensions  ?  Will 
their  unfortunate  losses  of  property  through  confiscation 
be  made  good  to  them  ?  I  doubt  it.  Therefore,  my 
lord  Marquis,  will  not  indisputable  proofs  of  past  services 
be  useful  then  ?  It  is  not  that  I  ever  shall  mistrust  the 
King  himself,  but  I  heartily  mistrust  those  cormorants 
of  ministers  and  courtiers  about  him,  who  will  din  a  lot 
of  trash  into  his  ears  about  the  public  good,  the  honour 
of  France,  the  interests  of  the  crown,  and  a  hundred  more 
such  things.  They  will  make  mock  then  of  a  loyal  Vendean 
or  a  brave  Chouan  because  he  is  aged,  and  because  the 
old  sword  that  once  he  drew  for  the  good  cause  dangles 
against  his  legs,  which  are  shrunken  with  sufferings. 
Can  you  blame  us,  Marquis  ? ' 

c  You  put  it  admirably,  M.  du  Visard ;  but  you  have 
spoken  a  little  too  soon,'  replied  Montauran. 

c  Listen,  Marquis,'  said  the  Comte  de  Bauvan  in  a  low 
voice,  c  upon  my  word,  Rifoel  has  told  us  some  very  true 
things.  You  yourself  are  always  sure  of  access  to  the 
King's  ear ;  but  the  rest  of  us  can  seldom  go  to  see  our 
master.    So  I  tell  you  frankly  that  if  you  do  not  pledge 


270 


The  Chouans 


your  word  as  a  gentleman  to  obtain  the  post  of  Grand 
Master  of  the  Rivers  and  Forests  of  France  for  me,  when 
opportunity  offers,  the  devil  take  me  if  I  will  risk  my 
neck.  It  is  no  small  task  that  I  am  set — to  conquer 
Normandy  for  the  King,  so  I  hope  to  have  the  Order  for 
it.  But  there  is  time  yet  to  think  about  that,'  he  added, 
blushing.  1  God  forbid  that  I  should  follow  the  example 
of  these  wretches,  and  worry  you.  You  will  speak  to  the 
King  for  me,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it.' 

Each  of  the  chiefs  by  some  more  or  less  ingenious 
device  found  means  to  inform  the  Marquis  of  the  extra- 
vagant reward  which  he  expected  for  his  services. 
One  modestly  asked  for  the  Governorship  of  Brittany, 
another  for  a  barony,  one  demanded  promotion,  and 
another  a  command ;  while  one  and  all  of  them  desired 
pensions. 

'Well,  Baron,'  the  Marquis  said,  addressing  M.  du 
Guenic,  c  do  you  really  wish  for  nothing  ? ' 

*  Faith,  Marquis,  these  gentlemen  have  left  nothing  for 
me  but  the  crown  of  France;  but  I  could  readily  manage 
to  put  up  with  that  ' 

c  Gentlemen  ! '  thundered  the  Abbe  Gudin.  4  Con- 
sider this,  that  if  you  are  so  eager  in  the  day  of  victory, 
you  will  spoil  everything.  Will  not  the  King  be  com- 
pelled to  make  concessions  to  the  Revolutionaries  ? ' 

c  What !  to  the  Jacobins  !  '  exclaimed  the  smuggler. 
( Let  the  King  leave  that  to  me  !  I  will  undertake  to 
set  my  thousand  men  to  hang  them,  and  we  shall  very 
soon  be  rid  of  them  ' 

CM.  de  Cottereau,'  said  the  Marquis, c  I  see  that  several 
invited  guests  are  arriving.  We  must  vie  with  each 
other  in  assiduity  and  zeal,  so  as  to  determine  them  to 
take  part  in  our  sacred  enterprise.  You  understand  that 
the  present  moment  is  not  a  time  to  consider  your 
demands,  even  if  they  were  just.' 

The  Marquis  went  towards  the  door  as  he  spoke,  as  if 
to  welcome  some  nobles  from  the  neighbouring  districts, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  271 


of  whom  he  had  caught  sight,  but  the  bold  smuggler 
intercepted  him  deferentially  and  respectfully. 

'No  !  no  !  my  lord  Marquis,  excuse  me,  but  in  1793 
the  Jacobins  taught  us  too  thoroughly  that  it  is  not  the 
reaper  who  gets  the  bannock.  If  you  put  your  name  to 
this  scrap  of  paper,  I  will  bring  you  fifteen  hundred  gars 
to-morrow ;  otherwise,  I  shall  treat  with  the  First 
Consul.' 

The  Marquis  looked  haughtily  around,  and  saw  that  the 
onlookers  at  the  debate  regarded  the  audacity  and  resolu- 
tion of  the  old  free-lance  with  no  unfavourable  eyes. 
One  man  only,  seated  in  a  corner,  appeared  to  take  no 
part  whatever  in  what  was  going  on,  but  was  employed 
in  filling  a  white  clay  pipe  with  tobacco.  The  contempt 
that  he  visibly  showed  for  the  orators,  his  unassuming 
manner,  and  the  commiseration  for  himself  which  the 
Marquis  read  in  the  man's  eyes,  made  him  look  closely  at 
this  magnanimous  adherent,  in  whom  he  recognised 
Major  Brigaut.  The  chief  went  quickly  up  to  him,  and 
said — 

c  How  about  you  ?    What  do  you  ask  for  ? ' 
c  Oh !  my  lord  Marquis,  if  the  King  comes  back  again, 
I  shall  be  quite  satisfied.' 
c  But  for  you  yourself? ' 

1  For  me  ?    Oh  !  .  .  .  You  are  joking,  my  lord.' 

The  Marquis  pressed  the  Breton's  hard  hand,  and  spoke 
to  Mme.  du  Gua,  by  whom  he  was  standing.  c  Madame, 
I  may  loose  my  life  in  this  undertaking  of  mine  before  I 
have  had  time  to  send  the  King  a  faithful  report  of  the 
Catholic  armies  in  Brittany.  If  you  should  see  the  days 
of  the  Restoration,  do  not  forget  either  this  brave  fellow 
nor  the  Baron  du  Guenic.  There  is  more  devotion  in 
these  two  than  in  all  the  other  people  here.' 

He  indicated  the  chiefs  who  were  waiting,  not  without 
impatience,  till  the  youthful  Marquis  should  comply  with 
their  demands.  Papers  were  displayed  in  every  hand,  in 
which,  doubtless  their  services  in  previous  wars  had  been 


272 


The  Chouans 


recorded  by  Royalist  generals ;  and  one  and  all  began  to 
murmur.  The  Abbe  Gudin,  the  Comte  de  Bauvan,  and 
the  Baron  du  Guenic  were  taking  counsel  in  their  midst, 
as  to  the  best  means  of  assisting  the  Marquis  to  reject 
such  extravagant  claims,  for  in  their  opinion  the  young 
leader's  position  was  a  very  difficult  one. 

There  was  a  sarcastic  light  in  the  blue  eyes  of  the 
Marquis  as  he  suddenly  gazed  about  him  on  those 
assembled,  and  spoke  in  clear  tones — 

c  Gentlemen,  I  do  not  know  whether  the  powers  which 
the  King  has  vouchsafed  to  me  are  comprehensive  enough 
to  permit  of  my  fulfilling  your  demands.  He  possibly 
did  not  foresee  such  zeal  and  such  devotion  as  yours. 
You  yourselves  shall  decide  as  to  my  duties,  and  perhaps 
I  may  be  able  to  perform  them.' 

He  went  and  returned  promptly  with  a  letter  lying 
open  in  his  hand,  ratified  by  the  royal  signature  and  seal. 

4  These  are  the  letters  patent  by  virtue  of  which  you  I 
owe  me  obedience,'  said  he.  'They  empower  me  to 
govern  in  the  King's  name  the  provinces  of  Brittany, 
Normandy,  Maine,  and  Anjou  ;  and  to  acknowledge  the 
services  of  the  officers  that  shall  distinguish  themselves  in 
his  Majesty's  armies.' 

An  evident  thrill  of  satisfaction  went  through  those 
assembled.  The  Chouans  came  up  and  respectfully 
formed  a  circle  about  the  Marquis.  All  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  King's  signature,  when  the  young  chief,  who  was 
standing  by  the  hearth,  flung  the  letter  into  the  fire, 
where  it  was  burned  to  ashes  in  a  moment. 

c  I  will  no  longer  command  any  but  those  who  see  in 
the  King,  a  King ;  and  not  a  prey  for  them  to  devour. 
Gentlemen,  you  are  at  liberty  to  leave  me  ' 

A  cry  of c  Long  live  the  King  ! '  went  up  from  Mme. 
du  Gua,  the  Abbe  Gudin,  Major  Brigaut,  the  Chevalier 
du  Vissard,  the  Baron  du  Guenic,  and  the  Comte  de 
Bauvan.  If,  in  the  first  instance,  the  other  chiefs 
wavered  a  moment  before  echoing  the  cry  of  these 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  273 


enthusiasts ;  the  Marquis's  noble  action  soon  produced  an 
effect  upon  them  ;  they  besought  him  to  forget  what  had 
happened,  and  protested  that,  no  matter  for  letters  patent, 
he  should  always  be  their  leader. 

c  Come,  let  us  dance  !  *  cried  the  Comte  de  Bauvan, 
c  and  happen  what  may  !  After  all,'  he  added  merrily, 
c  it  is  better  praying  to  God  than  to  the  saints.  Let 
us  fight  first,  and  by-and-by  we  shall  see.' 

cAh!  that  is  quite  true.  Begging  your  pardon. 
Baron,'  said  Brigaut,  speaking  in  a  low  voice  to  the 
staunch  du  Guenic,  c  I  have  never  seen  a  day's  wage 
asked  for  in  the  morning.' 

The  company  distributed  themselves  through  the 
rooms,  where  several  people  had  already  come  together. 
In  vain  the  Marquis  tried  to  dismiss  the  sombre 
expression  which  had  wrought  a  change  in  his  face  ; 
the  chiefs  could  easily  discern  that  the  foregoing 
scene  had  left  an  unfortunate  impression  on  the  mind 
of  a  man  who  still  united  some  of  the  fair  illusions 
of  youth  with  his  devotion  to  the  cause  ;  and  this  shamed 
them. 

The  assemblage,  composed  of  the  most  enthusiastic 
partizans  of  royalty,  was  radiant  with  intoxicating  joy. 
In  the  remote  parts  of  a  rebellious  province  they  had 
never  had  an  opportunity  of  forming  just  opinions  as  to 
the  events  of  the  Revolution,  and  had  to  take  the  most 
visionary  assumptions  for  solid  realities.  Their  courage 
had  been  stimulated  by  Montauran's  bold  initial  measures, 
by  his  fortune  and  ability,  and  by  the  name  he  bore,  all 
of  which  had  combined  to  cause  that  most  perilous  form 
of  intoxication — the  intoxication  of  politics,  which  is 
only  abated  after  torrents  of  blood  have  been  shed,  and 
for  the  most  part,  shed  in  vain.  The  Revolution  was 
only  a  passing  disturbance  in  France  for  all  those  who 
were  present ;  and  for  them  nothing  appeared  to  be 
changed.  The  districts  about  them  held  to  the  House 
of  Bourbon.    So  complete  was  the  domination  of  the 

s 


274  The  Chouans 

Royalists,  that  four  years  previously  Hoche  had  brought 
about  an  armistice  rather  than  a  peace. 

The  nobles,  therefore,  held  the  Revolutionaries  very 
cheap  ;  they  took  Bonaparte  for  a  Marceau,  who  had  had 
better  luck  than  his  predecessor.  And  the  ladies  prepared 
to  dance,  in  high  spirits.  Only  a  few  of  the  chiefs  who 
had  met  the  Blues  in  the  field  were  aware  of  the  real 
gravity  of  the  crisis,  and  they  knew  that  they  should  be 
misunderstood  if  they  spoke  of  the  First  Consul  and  his 
power  to  their  countrymen  who  were  behind  the  times. 
So  they  talked  among  themselves,  turning  indifferent 
eyes  upon  the  ladies,  who  avenged  themselves  by  criticising 
them  to  each  other.  Mme.  du  Gua,  who  appeared  to  be 
doing  the  honours  of  the  ball,  tried  to  distract  the  atten- 
tion of  the  ladies  from  their  impatience,  by  retailing 
conventional  flatteries  to  each  in  turn.  The  harsh  sounds 
of  the  tuning  of  the  instruments  were  already  audible, 
when  Mme.  du  Gua  saw  the  Marquis,  with  a  trace  of 
melancholy  still  about  his  face.  She  hurried  to  him,  and 
said — 

4 1  hope  you  are  not  depressed  by  the  scene  you 
have  had  with  those  boors  ?  It  is  a  very  commonplace 
occurrence.' 

She  received  no  reply.  The  Marquis  was  absorbed  in 
his  musings.  He  thought  that  he  heard  some  of  the 
arguments  that  Marie  had  urged  upon  him  in  her 
prophetic  tones  among  these  very  chiefs  at  the  Vivetiere — 
when  she  had  tried  to  induce  him  to  abandon  the 
struggle  of  kings  against  peoples.  But  he  had  too  much 
loftiness  of  soul,  too  much  pride,  and  possibly  too  strong 
a  belief  in  the  work  that  he  had  begun,  to  forsake  it 
now ;  and  he  resolved  at  that  moment  to  carry  it  on  with 
a  stout  heart,  in  spite  of  obstacles.  He  raised  his  head 
again  proudly,  and  the  meaning  of  Mme.  du  Gua's  words 
only  then  reached  him. 

c  You  are  at  Fougeres,  of  course  ! '  she  was  saying  with 
a  bitterness  that  betrayed  the  futility  of  the  attempts  she 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  275 


had  made  to  divert  his  mind.  c  Ah  !  my  lord,  I  would 
give  all  the  life  in  me  to  put  her  into  your  hands,  and  to 
see  you  happy  with  her.' 

*  Then  why  did  you  fire  at  her  so  dexterously  ? ' 

4  Because  I  wished  her  either  dead  or  in  your  arms. 
Yes !  I  could  have  given  my  love  to  the  Marquis  of 
Montauran  on  the  day  when  I  thought  that  I  discerned  a 
hero  in  him.  To-day  I  have  for  him  only  a  compassionate 
friendship ;  he  is  held  aloof  from  glory  by  the  roving 
heart  of  an  opera  girl.' 

cAs  to  love,'  the  Marquis  answered  with  irony  in  his 
tones,  4  you  are  quite  wrong  about  me  !  If  I  loved  that 
girl,  madame,  I  should  feel  less  desire  for  her — and,  but 
for  you,  I  should  even  now  possibly  think  no  more  of  her.' 

c  Here  she  is  ! 9  said  Mme.  du  Gua  suddenly. 

The  haste  with  which  the  Marquis  turned  his  head 
gave  a  horrible  pang  to  the  poor  lady  ;  but  by  the  brilliant 
light  of  the  candles  the  slightest  changes  that  took  place 
in  the  features  of  the  man  whom  she  so  ardently  loved 
were  easily  discerned,  so  that  she  fancied  she  saw  some 
hopes  of  a  return,  when  he  turned  his  face  back  to  hers, 
with  a  smile  at  this  feminine  stratagem. 

c  At  what  are  you  laughing  ? '  asked  the  Comte  de 
Bauvan. 

c  At  a  soap-bubble  that  has  burst !  •  Mme.  du  Gua  re- 
plied gaily.  c  If  we  are  to  believe  the  Marquis,  he  wonders 
to-day  that  his  heart  ever  beat  for  a  moment  for  the 
creature  who  calls  herself  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  You  know 
whom  I  mean  ? ' 

4  The  creature  ?  •  queried  the  Count,  with  reproach  in 
his  voice.  c  It  is  only  right,  madame,  that  the  author  of 
the  mischief  should  make  reparation  for  it,  and  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honour  that  she  really  is  the  daughter  of  the 
Due  de  Verneuil.' 

4  Which  word  of  honour,  Count  ? 9  asked  the  Marquis  in 
an  entirely  different  tone.  c  Are  we  to  believe  you  at  the 
Vivetiere  or  here  at  Saint  James  ? ' 


276 


The  Chouans 


Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  announced  in  a  loud  voice.  The 
Count  hurried  towards  the  door,  offered  his  hand  with 
every  sign  of  the  deepest  respect  to  the  fair  new-comer, 
and  led  her  through  the  curious  throng  of  gazers  to  the 
Marquis  and  Mine,  du  Gua. 

c  Believe  nothing  but  the  word  I  have  given  you 
to-day,'  he  said  to  the  astonished  chief. 

Mme.  du  Gua  turned  pale  at  the  untoward  reappearance 
of  the  girl  who  was  standing  looking  proudly  about  her, 
to  discover,  among  those  assembled,  the  former  guests  at 
the  Vivetiere.  She  waited  to  receive  her  rival's  con- 
strained greeting  ;  and,  without  a  glance  at  the  Marquis, 
she  allowed  the  Count  to  lead  her  to  a  place  of  honour  by 
the  side  of  Mme.  du  Gua,  to  whom  she  bowed  slightly 
in  a  patronising  way.  The  latter  would  not  be  vexed  at 
this,  and  her  woman's  instinct  led  her  at  once  to  assume 
a  friendly  and  smiling  expression.  For  a  moment  Mile, 
de  Verneuil's  beauty  and  singular  costume  drew  a  murmur 
from  the  company.  When  the  Marquis  and  Mme.  du 
Gua  looked  at  those  who  had  been  at  the  Vivetiere,  they 
saw  that  the  respectful  attitude  of  each  one  seemed  to  be 
sincere,  and  that  every  one  appeared  to  be  considering 
how  to  reinstate  himself  in  the  good  graces  of  the 
Parisian  lady,  concerning  whom  they  had  been  in  error. 
The  two  antagonists  were  now  face  to  face. 

c  But  this  is  witchcraft,  mademoiselle  !  Who  but  you 
in  all  the  world  could  take  us  by  surprise  like  this  ?  Did 
you  really  come  hither  quite  alone  ? '  asked  Mme.  du 
Gua. 

c  Quite  alone,'  Mile,  de  Verneuil  repeated,  4  so  this 
evening,  madame,  you  will  have  only  me  to  kill.' 

c  Make  allowances  for  me,'  answered  Mme.  du  Gua. 
4 1  cannot  tell  you  how  much  pleasure  I  feel  at  meeting 
you  again.  I  have  been  really  overwhelmed  by  the 
recollection  of  the  wrong  I  did  you,  and  I  was  seeking  for 
an  opportunity  which  should  permit  me  to  atone  for  it.' 

'  The  wrong  you  did  me,  madame,  I  can  readily 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  277 


pardon ;  but  the  death  of  the  Blues  whom  you  murdered 
lies  heavily  on  my  heart.  I  might,  moreover,  make  some 
further  complaint  of  the  brusque  style  of  your  correspon- 
dence. .  .  .  But,  after  all,  I  forgive  everything,  on 
account  of  the  service  that  you  have  done  me.' 

Mme.  du  Gua  lost  countenance  as  she  felt  her  hand 
clasped  in  that  of  her  lovely  rival,  who  was  smiling  upon 
her  in  an  offensively  gracious  manner.  The  Marquis  had 
not  stirred  so  far,  but  now  he  seized  the  Count's  arm  in 
a  close  grip. 

c  You  have  shamefully  deceived  me,'  he  said.  1  You 
have  even  involved  my  honour ;  I  am  no  comedy  dupe ; 
I  will  have  your  life  for  this,  or  you  shall  have  mine.' 

c  I  am  ready  to  afford  you  every  explanation  that  you 
may  desire,  Marquis,'  said  the  Count  stiffly,  and  they  went 
into  an  adjoining  room.  Even  those  who  were  least 
acquainted  with  the  mystery  underlying  this  scene  began 
to  understand  the  interest  that  it  possessed  ;  so  that  no 
one  stirred  when  the  violins  gave  the  signal  for  the 
dancing  to  begin. 

Mme  du  Gua  spoke,  compressing  her  lips  in  a  kind  of 
fury — 

4  Mademoiselle,  what  service  can  I  have  had  the  honour 
of  rendering,  of  importance  sufficient  to  deserve  ? ' 

c  Did  you  not  enlighten  me,  madame,  as  to  the  Marquis 
de  Montauran's  real  nature  ?  With  what  calm  indiffer- 
ence the  execrable  man  allowed  me  to  go  to  my  death  ! 
...  I  give  him  up  to  you  very  willingly.' 

*  Then  what  have  you  come  here  to  seek  ? '  Mme.  du 
Gua  asked  quickly. 

<  The  esteem  and  the  reputation  of  which  you  robbed 
me  at  the  Vivetiere,  madame.  Do  not  give  yourself  any 
uneasiness  about  anything  else.  Even  if  the  Marquis 
were  to  come  back  to  me,  a  lost  love  regained  is  no  love 
at  all,  as  you  must  be  aware.' 

Mme.  du  Gua  took  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  hand  in  hers 
with  a  charming  caressing  gesture,  such  as  women  like  to 


278 


The  Chouans 


use  among  themselves,  especially  when  men  are  also 
present. 

cWell,  dear  child,  I  am  delighted  that  you  are  so 
sensible  about  it.  If  the  service  which  I  have  rendered 
you  has  been  a  somewhat  painful  one  at  the  outset '  (and 
here  she  pressed  the  hand  which  she  held,  though  she 
felt  within  her  a  wild  longing  to  tear  it  in  pieces,  when 
she  found  how  delicately  soft  the  ringers  were),  c  at 
any  rate  it  shall  be  thorough.  Just  listen  to  me.  I 
know  the  Gars's  nature  well,'  she  went  on,  with  a 
treacherous  smile  ;  c  he  would  have  deceived  you,  he  will 
not  marry  any  woman,  nor  can  he  do  so.' 

<  Ah  !  > 

c  Yes,  mademoiselle.  He  only  accepted  his  perilous 
mission  in  order  to  win  the  hand  of  Mile.  d'Uxelles ;  his 
Majesty  has  promised  to  use  all  his  influence  to  bring  the 
marriage  about.' 

< Indeed  ! ' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  added  not  a  word  more  to  this 
satirical  exclamation.  The  young  and  handsome  Chevalier 
du  Vissard,  eager  to  earn  her  forgiveness  for  the  witticism 
which  had  been  a  signal  for  the  insults  that  had  followed 
upon  it  at  the  Vivetiere,  came  up  to  her  and  respectfully 
asked  for  a  dance  ;  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  they 
hastened  to  take  their  places  in  the  same  quadrille  with 
Mme.  du  Gua.  The  powdered  or  frizzled  hair  of  the 
other  ladies,  and  their  toilettes,  which  recalled  the  by- 
gone days  of  the  exiled  court,  looked  ridiculous  when 
confronted  with  the  magnificent  simplicity  of  the  elegant 
costume  which  the  prevailing  fashion  of  the  day  permitted 
Mile,  du  Verneuil  to  wear.  The  ladies  condemned  it 
aloud,  and  inwardly  envied  her.  The  men  were  never 
weary  of  admiring  the  effect  of  so  simple  a  way  of 
dressing  the  hair,  and  every  detail  about  her  dress,  which 
owed  all  its  charm  to  the  graceful  outlines  which  it 
displayed. 

The  Marquis  and  the  Count  returned  to  the  ballroom, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  279 


and  stood  behind  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  did  not  turn 
her  head ;  but  even  if  a  mirror  opposite  to  her  had  not 
informed  her  of  the  Marquis's  presence,  she  would  have 
learned  it  from  the  face  of  Mme.  du  Gua,  whose  apparent 
carelessness  concealed  but  ill  the  anxiety  with  which  she 
awaited  the  dispute  that  must  sooner  or  later  take  place 
between  the  lovers.  Although  Montauran  was  talking 
with  the  Count  and  with  two  other  persons,  he  could 
overhear  the  chat  of  his  neighbours  and  of  each  pair  of 
dancers,  as,  in  the  shifting  figures  of  the  quadrille,  they 
stood  for  a  moment  where  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  been. 

c  Oh  !  mon  Dieu  ->  yes,  madame,  she  came  here  by  her- 
self,' said  one. 

c  She  must  be  very  fearless,'  his  partner  replied. 

c  If  I  had  dressed  myself  like  that,  I  should  feel  as  if  I 
had  no  clothes  on,'  said  another  lady. 

c  Oh  !  the  costume  is  indelicate,'  her  cavalier  answered, 
'  but  she  is  so  pretty,  and  it  is  very  becoming  to  her.' 

c  Look  at  her  !  She  dances  so  perfectly  that  it  makes 
one  blush  for  her.  Is  she  not  exactly  like  an  opera  girl  ? ' 
the  envious  lady  inquired. 

c  Do  you  think  that  she  can  have  come  here  to  treat 
with  us  in  the  name  of  the  First  Consul  ? '  asked  a  third 
lady. 

c  What  a  joke  ! '  said  her  partner. 

c  She  will  scarcely  bring  innocence  with  her  as  a  dowry,' 
laughed  the  lady. 

The  Gars  turned  sharply  round  to  see  the  speaker  who 
had  ventured  to  make  such  an  epigram,  and  Mme.  du 
Gua  gave  him  a  look  which  said  distinctly — 

4  You  see  what  they  think  of  her  ! ' 

4  Madame,'  the  Count  said  jestingly  to  Marie's  enemy, 
c  only  ladies  so  far  have  deprived  her  of  it.' 

In  his  heart  the  Marquis  forgave  the  Count  for  all  his 
offences.  He  ventured  to  glance  at  his  mistress.  Her 
loveliness  was  enhanced,  as  is  nearly  always  the  case  with 
women,  by  the  candle-light.    She  reached  her  place,  her 


280 


The  Chouans 


back  was  turned  towards  him,  but  as  she  talked  with 
her  partner  the  persuasive  tones  of  her  voice  reached  the 
Marquis. 

c  The  First  Consul  is  sending  us  very  formidable  am- 
bassadors ! 1  her  partner  remarked. 

c  That  has  been  said  already,  sir,  at  the  Vivetiere,'  she 
replied. 

4  Your  memory  is  as  good  as  the  King's  ! '  returned  the 
gentleman,  vexed  at  his  own  awkwardness. 

4  Offences  must  be  clearly  kept  in  mind  if  they  are  to 
be  forgiven,'  she  said  quickly,  and  a  smile  released  him 
from  his  predicament. 

c  Are  all  of  us  included  in  the  amnesty  ! '  the  Marquis 
asked.  But  she  flung  herself  into  the  dance  with  childish 
enthusiasm,  leaving  him  confused,  and  with  his  question 
unanswered.  She  saw  how  he  was  watching  her  in  sullen 
gloom,  and  bent  her  head  in  a  coquettish  manner,  which 
displayed  the  symmetry  of  her  neck,  heedful,  at  the  same 
time,  to  omit  no  movement  which  could  reveal  the  won- 
derful grace  of  her  form.  Marie's  beauty  was  attractive 
as  Hope,  and  elusive  as  Memory.  To  see  her  thus,  was 
to  wish  to  possess  her  at  any  cost.  She  knew  this,  and 
the  consciousness  of  her  own  beauty  made  her  face  at 
that  moment  radiant  with  indescribable  loveliness.  The 
Marquis  felt  a  tempest  of  love,  anger,  and  madness  raging 
in  his  heart ;  he  wrung  the  Count's  hand,  and  withdrew. 

c  Ah  !  has  he  gone  away  ? '  asked  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
when  she  came  back  to  her  place. 

The  Count  hurried  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  thence 
brought  back  the  Gars,  making  a  significant  gesture  for 
the  lady  to  whom  he  had  extended  his  protection. 

c  He  is  mine ! '  she  said  within  herself,  as  she  studied  the 
Marquis  in  the  mirror ;  his  face  was  somewhat  agitated, 
but  he  was  radiant  with  hope. 

She  received  the  young  chief  ungraciously,  and  did  not 
vouchsafe  a  word  to  him,  but  she  smiled  as  she  turned 
away  ;  she  saw  him  so  far  above  the  others,  that  she  felt 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  281 


proud  of  her  tyrannous  power  over  him.  Guided  by 
an  instinct  that  all  women  obey  more  or  less,  she  deter- 
mined to  make  him  pay  a  heavy  price  for  a  few  kind 
words,  in  order  that  he  might  learn  their  value.  When 
the  quadrille  came  to  an  end,  all  the  gentlemen  who  had 
been  at  the  Vivetiere  came  about  Marie,  each  one 
endeavouring  to  obtain  her  forgiveness  for  his  mistake  by 
compliments  more  or  less  neatly  turned.  But  he  whom 
she  would  fain  have  seen  at  her  feet  kept  away  from  her 
little  court. 

c  He  thinks  that  I  love  him  yet,'  she  said  to  herself, 
cand  he  will  not  make  one  among  those  to  whom  I  am 
indifferent.' 

She  declined  to  dance.  Then,  as  if  the  ball  had  been 
given  in  her  honour,  she  went  from  quadrille  to  quadrille, 
leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  Comte  de  Bauvan,  with  whom 
it  pleased  her  to  appear  to  be  on  familiar  terms.  There 
was  no  one  present  who  did  not  know  the  whole  history 
of  what  had  happened  at  the  Vivetiere,  down  to  the 
smallest  detail,  thanks  to  Madame  du  Gua,  who  hoped, 
by  this  very  publicity  given  to  the  affairs  of  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  and  the  Marquis,  to  put  a  further  hindrance  to 
any  understanding  between  them.  In  this  way  the  two 
estranged  lovers  became  objects  of  general  interest. 
Montauran  did  not  dare  to  approach  his  mistress  ;  the 
recollection  of  her  wrongs  and  the  vehemence  of  his 
reawakened  desires  made  her  almost  terrible  in  his  eyes  ; 
and  the  young  girl,  though  she  seemed  to  give  her  attention 
to  the  dancers,  was  watching  his  face  and  its  forced 
composure. 

c  It  is  dreadfully  hot  in  here,'  she  said  to  her  cavalier. 
*  I  see  that  M.  de  Montauran's  forehead  is  quite  damp. 
Will  you  take  me  across  to  the  other  side,  so  that  I  can 
breathe  ?  .  .  .  This  is  stifling.' 

With  a  movement  of  the  head,  she  indicated  the  next 
room,  where  a  few  card-players  were  sitting.  The  Mar- 
quis followed  her,  as  if  he  had  guessed  at  the  words  from 


282 


The  Chouans 


the  movements  of  her  Hps.  He  even  hoped  that  she  had 
left  the  crowd  in  order  to  see  him  once  more,  and  with 
this  hope  the  violence  of  his  passion  grew  with  redoubled 
force,  after  the  restraint  that  he  had  imposed  upon  himself 
for  the  last  few  days.  It  pleased  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to 
torment  the  young  chief.  Those  eyes  of  hers,  so  like 
velvet,  and  so  gentle  for  the  Count,  became  cold  and 
gloomy  for  him,  if  he  met  their  gaze  by  chance.  Mon- 
tauran  made  an  effort  that  seemed  to  cost  him  something, 
and  said  in  an  uncertain  voice— 
'  Will  you  never  forgive  me  ?' 

c  Love  forgives  nothing  unless  it  forgives  everything,' 
she  said,  in  a  dry,  indifferent  tone.  Then,  as  she  saw  him 
give  a  sudden  start  of  joy,  she  added,  cbut  it  must  be 
love.  .  .  .' 

She  rose,  took  the  Count's  arm,  and  hastened  to  a  little 
sitting-room  adjoining  the  cardroom.  The  Marquis 
followed  her  thither. 

4  You  shall  hear  me  ! '  he  cried. 

c  You  will  make  others  imagine,  sir,'  she  replied,  4  that 
I  came  here  on  your  account,  and  not  out  of  respect 
for  myself.  If  you  will  not  desist  from  this  detestable 
persecution,  I  shall  go.' 

Then  he  bethought  himself  of  one  of  the  wildest  extra- 
vagances of  the  last  Duke  of  Lorraine.  4  Let  me  speak 
to  you,'  he  entreated,  'only  for  so  long  as  I  can  keep 
this  coal  in  my  hand.' 

He  stooped,  snatched  up  a  firebrand  from  the  hearth, 
and  held  it  in  a  strenuous  grasp.  Mile,  de  Verneuil 
reddened,  drew  her  arm  quickly  from  the  Count, 
and  looked  in  amazement  at  the  Marquis.  The  Count 
softly  withdrew  and  left  the  lovers  alone.  Nothing  is  so 
convincing  in  a  lover  as  some  piece  of  splendid  folly — 
his  mad  courage  had  shaken  Marie's  very  heart. 

4  You  simply  show  me,'  she  said,  trying  to  compel  him 
to  drop  the  coal,  'that  you  would  be  capable  of  giving  me 
over  to  the  worst  of  torture.    You  are  all  for  extremes. 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  283 

You  believed  the  evidence  of  a  fool  and  a  woman's 
slander ;  you  suspected  that  she  who  came  to  save  your 
life  was  capable  of  betraying  you.' 

'  Yes,'  he  said,  smiling.  c  I  have  been  cruel  to  you, 
but  you  must  forget  that ; — I  shall  never  forget  it.  Ah  ! 
hear  me.  ...  I  was  infamously  deceived  ;  but  so  many 
things  on  that  wretched  day  all  told  against  you  .  .  .' 

'And  those  things  were  enough  to  extinguish  your 
love  ? ' 

c  He  hesitated  a  moment ;  with  a  scornful  movement 
she  rose. 

c  Marie,'  he  said,  c  just  now,  I  wish  to  believe  you,  and 
you  only.' 

'Then  drop  that  coal  !  You  must  be  mad.  Open 
your  hand  ;  do  as  I  wish.' 

He  delighted  in  the  feeble  resistance  he  made  to  her 
gentle  efforts  ;  he  wanted  to  prolong  the  keen  pleasure 
that  he  felt  in  the  pressure  of  her  little  fingers ;  but  she 
succeeded  at  last  in  opening  the  hand  she  felt  she  could 
have  kissed.    The  fire  had  been  extinguished  in  blood. 

c  Now,'  she  said,  6  what  was  the  use  of  doing  that  ? ' 

She  tore  little  strips  from  her  handkerchief  and  dressed 
the  wound ;  it  was  not  very  serious,  and  the  Marquis 
easily  concealed  it  under  his  glove.  Madame  du  Gua 
came  into  the  cardroom  on  tiptoe,  and  furtively  watched 
the  lovers,  cleverly  keeping  herself  out  of  their  sight, 
noting  from  behind  them  their  slightest  movements ;  yet 
she  found  it  difficult  to  guess  at  their  talk  from  anything 
that  she  saw  them  do. 

4  If  everything  that  you  have  heard  against  me  were  true, 
admit,  at  least,  that  now  I  am  well  avenged,'  said  Marie  3 
there  was  a  malignity  in  her  expression  that  made  the 
Marquis  turn  pale. 

c  What  feeling  was  it  that  brought  you  here  ? ' 

'My  dear  boy,  you  are  a  great  coxcomb.  Do  you 
think  you  c?n  insult  such  a  woman  as  I  am  with  impunity? 
I  came  here  for  your  sake,  and  for  mine,'  she  added  after 


The  Chouans 


a  pause,  laying  her  hand  on  the  cluster  of  rubies  at  her 
breast,  and  showing  him  the  blade  of  a  poniard. 

c  What  does  all  this  mean  ? '  meditated  Madame  du 
Gua. 

c  But  you  love  me  still,'  Marie  went  on  •>  c  or  at  least, 
you  wish  for  me ;  and  that  piece  of  folly  of  yours,'  she 
said,  taking  the  hand  in  hers,  c  made  it  clear  to  me.  I 
am  again  as  I  had  wished  to  be,  and  I  shall  go  away 
happy.  Those  who  love  us  we  always  forgive.  And  I 
— I  am  loved ;  I  have  regained  the  respect,  the  man 
who  is  for  me  the  whole  world  \  I  could  die  now.' 

4  You  love  me  yet  ? '  said  the  Marquis. 

c  Did  I  say  so  ? '  she  replied  ;  she  laughed ;  she  was 
happy,  for  ever  since  her  arrival  she  had  made  the  Marquis 
feel  increasing  torment.  *  But  had  I  not  some  sacrifices 
to  make  in  order  to  come  here  ?  For  I  saved  M.  de 
Bauvan  from  death,'  she  went  on  ;  c  and  he,  more  grateful 
than  you,  has  offered  me  his  name  and  fortune  in  return 
for  my  protection.    That  idea  never  entered  your  mind.' 

Her  last  words  astonished  the  Marquis ;  the  Count 
appeared  to  have  made  a  fool  of  him  •>  he  struggled  with  a 
feeling  of  anger  stronger  than  any  that  he  had  yet  known, 
and  did  not  reply. 

c  Ah,  you  are  deliberating  ! '  she  said,  with  a  bitter  smile. 

c  Mademoiselle,  your  misgivings  justify  mine.' 

*  Let  us  go  back,'  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  caught 
a  glimpse  of  Madame  du  Gua's  robe  in  the  cardroom. 

Marie  rose ;  but  a  wish  to  torment  her  rival  made  her 
hesitate  a  little. 

c  Do  you  want  to  plunge  me  into  hell  ? '  asked  the 
Marquis,  taking  her  hand  and  holding  it  tightly. 

c  Where  did  you  plunge  me  five  days  ago  ?  And  now, 
now  at  this  moment,  are  you  not  leaving  me  in  cruel 
suspense  as  to  the  sincerity  of  your  love  ? ' 

c  How  do  I  know  that  your  vengeance  may  not  go  so 
far  as  this — to  take  possession  of  my  whole  life,  so  that 
you  may  sully  it,  rather  than  compass  my  death  .  .  .' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  285 

c  Ah,  you  do  not  love  me  ;  you  only  think  of  yourself, 
and  not  of  me,'  she  said,  with  angry  tears  in  her  eyes. 

The  coquette  knew  well  the  power  of  those  eyes  of 
hers  when  they  were  drowned  in  tears. 

'Take  my  life,  then,'  said  the  Marquis,  now  quite 
beside  himself,  c  but  dry  those  tears.' 

c  Oh,  my  love  ! '  she  murmured  ;  6  the  words,  the  tones, 
the  look  that  I  waited  for,  to  wish  for  thy  happiness 
rather  than  mine.  But,  my  lord,' she  resumed,  CI  ask 
for  one  last  proof  of  your  affection,  that  you  tell  me  is  so 
great.  I  can  stay  here  only  for  a  little,  only  for  the  time 
needed  to  make  sure  that  you  are  mine.  I  shall  not  take 
even  a  glass  of  water  in  this  house,  where  a  woman  lives 
who  has  twice  tried  to  murder  me,  who  at  this  moment 
perhaps  is  planning  some  treachery  against  us  both, 
and  who  is  listening  to  us  at  this  moment,'  she  added, 
pointing  out  to  the  Marquis  the  floating  folds  of  Madame 
du  Gua's  robe. 

Then  she  dried  her  tears,  and  bent  to  the  ear  of  the 
young  noble,  who  trembled  to  feel  her  soft  breath  on  him. 

'Prepare  everything  so  that  we  can  go,'  she  said. 
'  You  will  take  me  back  to  Fougeres,  and  there  you  shall 
know  whether  I  love  you  or  no.  For  the  second  time  I 
trust  in  you.    Will  you  too  trust  a  second  time  in  me  ? ' 

( Ah,  Marie,  you  have  led  me  on  till  I  scarcely  know 
what  I  am  doing.  Your  words,  your  looks,  your  presence 
intoxicate  me.    I  am  ready  to  do  everything  you  wish.' 

4  Well,  then,  give  me  one  moment's  bliss.  Let  me 
enjoy  the  only  triumph  for  which  I  have  longed.  I  want 
to  breathe  freely  once  more,  to  live  the  life  of  my  dreams, 
to  take  my  fill  of  illusions  before  they  leave  me.  Let  us 
go.    Come  and  dance  with  me.' 

They  went  back  again  together  into  the  ballroom. 
For  her  the  gratification  of  heart  and  of  vanity  had  been 
as  complete  as  a  woman  can  know  ;  but  her  inscrutable 
soft  eyes,  the  mysterious  smile  about  her  mouth,  and  her 
swift  movements  in  the  excited  dance,  kept  the  secret  of 


286 


The  Chouans 


Mile,  de  Verneuil's  thoughts  as  the  sea  buries  the  secret 
of  some  criminal  who  has  given  a  heavy  corpse  into  its 
keeping.  Yet  a  murmur  of  admiration  went  through 
the  room  as  she  turned  to  her  lover's  arms  for  the  waltz ; 
and  closely  interlocked,  with  drooping  heads  and  languid 
eyes,  they  swayed  voluptuously  round  and  round,  clasping 
each  other  in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  revealing  all  their  hopes 
of  pleasure  from  a  closer  union. 

4  Go  and  see  if  Pille-Miche  is  in  the  camp,  Count,' 
said  Mme.  du  Gua  to  M.  de  Bauvan.  c  Bring  him  to 
me  ;  and  for  this  little  service  you  may  assure  yourself 
that  you  shall  receive  anything  that  you  will  ask  of  me, 
even  my  hand.  .  .  My  revenge  will  cost  me  dear,'  she 
said,  as  she  saw  him  go  •>  'but  it  shall  not  fail  this  time.' 

A  few  moments  after  this  scene  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and 
the  Marquis  were  seated  in  a  berline  drawn  by  four 
strong  horses.  Francine  did  not  utter  a  word.  She  was 
surprised  to  see  the  two  who  to  all  appearance  had  been 
foes  now  sitting  hand  in  hand  and  on  such  good  terms 
with  each  other.  She  did  not  even  venture  to  put  the 
question  to  herself  whether  this  meant  love  or  treachery 
on  her  mistress's  part.  Thanks  to  the  stillness  and  the 
darkness  of  night,  the  Marquis  could  not  perceive  Mile, 
de  Verneuil's  agitation,  which  increased  as  she  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  Fougeres.  Through  the  faint  dusk 
they  could  see  the  spire  of  St.  Leonard's  church  in  the 
distance  ;  and  then — c  I  shall  die,'  said  Marie  to  herself. 

When  they  reached  the  first  hill  on  the  road,  the  same 
thought  came  to  both  the  lovers ;  they  left  the  carriage, 
and  walked  up  it,  as  if  in  memory  of  that  first  day  of 
their  meeting. 

Marie  took  Montauran's  arm,  and  thanked  him  by  a 
smile  for  having  respected  her  silence.     When  they  i 
reached  the  stretch  of  level  ground  at  the  summit,  whence  ] 
they  could  see  Fougeres,  she  emerged  from  her  reverie.  \ 

4  Come  no  further,'  she  said  ;  c  my  authority  will  not  i 
save  you  from  the  Blues  to-day.'  t 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  287 


Montauran  showed  some  astonishment  at  this  ;  but  she 
smiled  sadly  and  pointed  to  a  massive  boulder,  as  if  to  bid 
him  to  be  seated,  while  she  herself  remained  standing  in  a 
melancholy  attitude.  The  heartrending  grief  within  her 
made  the  artifices  which  she  had  used  so  lavishly  no 
longer  possible  to  her.  She  could  have  knelt  on  burning 
coals  just  then,  and  have  been  no  more  conscious  of  them 
than  the  Marquis  had  been  of  the  brand  which  he  had 
seized  to  make  known  the  vehemence  of  his  passion. 
After  looking  long  at  her  lover  with  the  deepest  sorrow 
in  her  gaze,  she  pronounced  the  terrible  words — 

c  All  your  suspicions  of  me  are  true.' 

The  Marquis  made  an  unconscious  movement. 

4  Ah  !  for  pity's  sake,'  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands, 
'hear  me  to  the  end  without  interrupting  me.  I  am 
really  the  daughter  of  the  Due  de  Verneuil,'  she  went  on 
in  an  unsteady  voice ;  cbut  I  am  only  his  natural  daughter. 
My  mother,  a  Mile,  de  Casteran,  took  the  veil  to  escape 
from  the  punishment  which  her  family  had  prepared  for 
her.  She  expiated  her  fault  by  fifteen  years  of  weeping, 
and  died  at  Seez.  It  was  only  at  the  last,  when  on  her 
deathbed,  that  the  dear  abbess,  for  my  sake,  sent  an 
entreaty  to  the  man  who  had  forsaken  her  ;  for  she  knew 
that  I  had  neither  friends,  nor  fortune,  nor  prospects. 
This  man,  who  was  well  remembered  in  Francine's 
home  (for  I  had  been  confided  to  her  mother's  care),  had 
quite  forgotten  his  child.  Yet  the  duke  welcomed  me 
gladly,  and  recognised  my  claim  upon  him  because  I  was 
pretty,  and  perhaps,  too,  because  I  brought  back  me- 
mories of  his  younger  days.  He  was  one  of  those  great 
lords  who,  in  the  previous  reign,  took  a  pride  in  showing 
how  that,  if  a  crime  were  but  gracefully  perpetrated,  it 
needs  must  be  condoned.  I  will  say  no  more  about  him  ; 
he  was  my  father.  And  yet  you  must  suffer  me  to 
explain  how  my  life  in  Paris  could  not  but  leave  my 
mind  tainted.  In  the  Due  de  VerneuiTs  circle,  and  in 
the  society  into  which  he  introduced  me,  there  was  a 


288 


The  Chouans 


craze  for  the  sceptical  philosophy  which  France  had 
accepted  with  enthusiasm,  because  it  was  put  forward 
everywhere  with  so  much  ability.  The  brilliant  talk  that 
pleased  my  ears  found  favour  with  me  on  account  of  the 
keenness  of  apprehension  displayed  in  it,  or  by  reason  of 
the  cleverly-turned  formulas  which  brought  contempt 
upon  religion  and  upon  truth.  The  men  who  made 
light  of  feelings  and  opinions  expressed  them  all  the 
better  because  they  had  never  felt  or  held  them  ;  and 
their  epigrammatic  turn  of  expression  was  not  more 
attractive  than  the  lively  ease  with  which  they  could  put 
a  whole  story  into  a  word.  Sometimes,  however,  their 
cleverness  misled  them  ;  and  women  found  them  weari- 
some when  love-making  became  a  science  rather  than  an 
affair  of  the  heart.  I  made  a  feeble  resistance  to  this 
torrent,  although  my  soul  (forgive  me  for  my  vanity)  was 
impassioned  enough  to  feel  that  esprit  had  withered  all 
these  natures  about  me ;  the  life  that  I  led  in  those  days 
ended  in  a  chronic  strife  between  my  natural  disposition 
and  the  warped  habits  of  mind  that  I  had  acquired.  A  few 
aspiring  intellects  had  amused  themselves  by  encouraging 
me  in  a  freedom  of  thought  and  a  contempt  for  public 
opinion  that  deprives  a  woman  of  a  certain  reticence, 
without  which  she  has  no  charm.  Alas  !  it  has  not  been 
in  the  power  of  adversity  to  correct  the  defects  which 
prosperity  implanted  in  me,'  and  she  sighed. 

c  My  father,  the  Due  de  Verneuil,'  she  resumed,  c  died 
after  recognising  me  as  his  daughter,  leaving  a  will  which 
considerably  diminished  the  estate  of  my  half-brother, 
his  legitimate  son,  in  my  favour.  One  morning  I  found 
myself  without  a  protector  or  a  roof  above  my  head.  My 
brother  disputed  the  will  which  had  enriched  me.  My 
vanity  had  been  developed  during  the  past  three  years 
that  had  been  spent  in  a  wealthy  household.  My  father 
had  indulged  all  my  fancies ;  to  him  I  owed  a  craving  for 
luxury,  and  habits  in  which  my  simple  and  inexperienced 
mind  failed  to  recognise  a  perilous  bondage.  The 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  289 

Marechal  Due  de  Lenoncourt,  one  of  my  father's  friends, 
a  man  of  seventy,  offered  to  become  my  guardian.  I 
accepted  his  offer ;  and  a  few  days  after  the  detestable  law- 
suit had  begun,  I  found  myself  in  a  splendid  house,  where 
I  was  in  full  possession  of  all  the  advantages  that  a 
brother's  unkindness  had  refused  to  me  over  our  father's 
coffin.  The  old  Marshal  used  to  come  to  spend  a  few 
hours  with  me  every  evening ;  and  from  him  I  heard 
only  gentle  and  soothing  words.  His  white  hair  and  all 
the  touching  proofs  of  paternal  tenderness  which  he  gave 
me  led  me  to  believe  that  the  feelings  of  my  own  heart 
were  likewise  his ;  and  I  liked  to  think  that  I  was  his 
daughter.  I  took  the  ornaments  that  he  gave  to  me,  and 
made  no  secret  of  any  of  my  fancies  when  I  saw  him  so 
glad  to  indulge  them.  One  evening  I  discovered  that 
all  Paris  looked  upon  me  as  the  poor  old  man's  mistress. 
It  was  made  clear  to  me  that  I  could  never  re-establish 
my  innocence,  of  which  I  had  been  groundlessly  deprived. 
The  man  who  had  taken  advantage  of  my  inexperience 
could  not  be  my  lover,  and  would  not  be  my  husband. 
In  the  week  in  which  I  made  this  hideous  discovery,  and 
on  the  eve  of  the  day  that  had  been  fixed  for  my  marriage 
— for  I  had  insisted  that  he  should  give  me  his  name,  the 
one  reparation  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  make  me — he 
suddenly  started  for  Coblentz.  I  was  ignominiously 
driven  from  the  little  house  in  which  the  Marshal  had 
installed  me,  and  which  was  not  his  own  property.  So 
far  I  have  told  the  truth  to  you  as  if  I  stood  before  the 
Judgment  Throne ;  but  after  this  point  do  not  ask  for  a 
complete  list  of  all  the  sufferings  that  lie  buried  in  the 
memory  of  an  unhappy  girl  One  day,  sir,  I  found 
myself  Dan  ton's  wife.  A  few  days  later,  and  the  great 
oak-tree  about  which  I  had  cast  my  arms  was  uprooted 
by  the  tempest.  Then,  when  plunged  for  the  second 
time  into  utter  misery,  I  determined  to  die.  I  do  not 
know  if  it  was  mere  love  of  life,  or  the  hope  of  out- 
wearing misfortune,  and  so  of  finding  at  last,  in  the 

T 


290 


The  Chouans 


depths  of  this  infinite  abyss,  the  happiness  that  eluded 
my  grasp,  or  by  what  other  motive  I  was  unconsciously 
counselled.  I  know  not  whether  I  was  led  away  by  the 
arguments  of  the  young  man  from  Vendome,  who,  for 
the  past  two  years,  has  hung  about  me  like  a  serpent 
about  a  tree,  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  some  overwhelming 
misfortune  may  give  me  to  him.  Indeed,  I  do  not  know 
how  1  came  to  accept  this  hateful  mission,  of  winning  the 
love  of  a  stranger  whom  I  was  to  betray  for  three 
hundred  thousand  francs  !  Then  I  saw  you,  sir,  and  I 
knew  you  at  once.  I  knew  it  by  one  of  those  presenti- 
ments that  never  lead  us  astray ;  and  yet  I  was  glad  to 
doubt  it,  for  the  more  I  loved  you,  the  more  appalling 
the  conviction  grew  for  me.  When  I  rescued  you  from 
Hulot's  clutches,  I  forswore  the  part  that  I  was  playing ; 
I  determined  to  outwit  the  executioners  instead  of  deceiv- 
ing their  victim.  It  was  wrong  of  me  to  play  in  that  way 
with  men's  lives,  and  with  their  schemes,  and  with 
myself,  with  all  the  heedlessness  of  a  girl  who  can  see 
nothing  but  sentiment  in  the  world.  I  thought  that  I 
was  loved,  and  allowed  the  hope  of  beginning  my  life 
anew  to  be  my  guide ;  but  everything  about  me,  and 
even  I  myself,  perhaps,  betrayed  my  lawless  past,  for  you 
must  have  mistrusted  a  woman  with  so  passionate  a  nature 
as  mine.  Alas !  who  could  refuse  forgiveness  to  me  for 
my  love  and  my  dissimulation  ?  Yes,  sir,  I  felt  as 
though,  after  a  long  and  uneasy  sleep,  I  had  awakened  to 
find  myself  a  girl  of  sixteen  again.  Was  I  not  in 
Alen^on  ?  The  pure  and  innocent  memories  of  my 
childish  days  there  rose  up  before  me.  My  wild  credulity 
led  me  to  think  that  love  would  give  me  a  baptism  of 
innocence.  For  a  little  while  I  thought  that  I  was  a 
maiden  still,  for  as  yet  I  had  never  loved.  But,  yesterday 
evening  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  sincerity  in  your 
passion ;  and  a  voice  within  me  cried,  "  Why  do  you 
deceive  him  ?  "  Know  this,  therefore.  Marquis,'  she  went 
on,  in  a  deep,  hard  voice  which  seemed  proudly  to  demand 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  291 

her  own  condemnation — c  know  this  for  a  certainty,  that 
I  am  only  a  dishonoured  creature  and  unworthy  of  you. 
From  this  moment  I  will  resume  my  role  of  castaway ; 
I  am  too  weary  to  sustain  any  longer  the  part  of  the 
woman  whom  you  had  led  to  yield  herself  to  all  the  most 
sacred  impulses  of  her  heart.  Virtue  weighs  me  down  ; 
I  should  despise  you  if  you  were  weak  enough  to  marry 
me.  A  Comte  de  Bauvan  might  perhaps  commit  such  a 
folly ;  but  you,  sir,  be  worthy  of  your  future,  and  leave 
me  without  regret.  The  courtesan,  you  see,  would 
require  too  much ;  she  would  love  you  in  nowise  like  a 
simple  and  artless  girl — she  who  felt  in  her  heart  for  a 
little  while  the  exquisite  hope  that  she  might  be  your 
companion,  that  she  might  make  you  always  happy  and 
do  you  honour,  and  be  a  noble  and  high-minded  wife  to 
you ;  and  who,  through  these  very  thoughts  that  moved 
her,  gathered  courage,  and  revived  her  evil  nature  of  vice 
and  infamy,  so  as  to  set  it  between  herself  and  you  as  an 
eternal  barrier.  I  give  up  honour  and  fortune  for  your 
sake.  The  pride  which  lays  this  sacrifice  upon  me  will 
uphold  me  in  my  wretchedness,  and  my  fate  I  leave  to 
the  disposal  of  destiny.  I  will  never  betray  you.  I  shall 
go  back  to  Paris ;  and  when  I  am  there  your  name  will 
be  another  separate  self  to  me  ;  and  the  splendid  heroism 
with  which  you  will  invest  it  will  be  my  consolation  in 
all  my  sorrows.  As  for  you,  you  are  a  man;  you  will 
forget  me — Farewell.' 

She  fled  in  the  direction  of  the  valleys  of  St.  Sulpice, 
and  vanished  before  the  Marquis  had  risen  to  delay  her ; 
but  she  retraced  her  steps,  hid  herself  in  a  fissure  of  the 
rocks,  raised  her  head,  and  anxiously  and  doubtfully 
studied  the  Marquis.  He  was  walking  on  without 
heeding  the  direction  in  which  he  went,  like  a  man 
distraught. 

i  If  his  should  be  a  weak  nature,'  she  said  to  herself 
as  he  disappeared,  and  she  felt  herself  cut  off  from  him, 
4  will  he  understand  me  ? 9 


2$2 


The  Chouans 


She  trembled.  Then  she  suddenly  walked  on  towards 
F ougeres  by  herself,  with  rapid  steps,  as  if  she  feared  that 
the  Marquis  might  follow  her  to  the  town,  where  he 
would  have  met  with  his  death. 

c  Well,  Francine,  what  did  he  say  ?'  she  asked  of  her 
faithful  Breton,  as  soon  as  they  were  together  again. 

c  Alas  !  Marie,  I  was  sorry  for  him.  You  great  ladies 
can  stab  a  man  to  the  heart  with  a  bitter  word.' 

4  What  was  he  like  when  he  came  up  with  you  ? 9 

1  Did  he  so  much  as  see  me  ? — Oh  !  Marie,  he  loves 
you ! 9 

c  Oh,  he  loves  me,  or  he  loves  me  not ! 9  she  answered, 
c  two  words  that  mean  heaven  or  hell  for  me;  and 
between  those  two  extremes  I  cannot  find  a  place  on 
which  to  set  my  foot.' 

After  she  had  accomplished  the  task  laid  upon  her 
by  fate,  Marie  could  give  way  to  her  sorrow.  Her  face 
had  kept  its  composure  hitherto,  owing  to  a  mixture  of 
different  sentiments  within  her,  but  now  it  underwent  a 
rapid  change,  so  that  after  a  day  spent  in  fluctuating 
between  presentiments  of  joy  or  despair,  her  beauty  lost 
its  radiance  and  the  freshness  which  owes  its  existence 
either  to  the  absence  of  all  passion  or  to  transports  of 
happiness.  Hulot  and  Corentin  came  to  see  her  shortly 
after  her  arrival,  curious  to  know  the  results  of  her  wild 
enterprise.    Marie  received  them  smilingly. 

c  Well,'  she  said  to  the  commandant,  whose  anxious 
face  looked  searchingly  at  her,  c  the  fox  is  coming  within 
range  of  your  guns  again,  and  you  will  soon  gain  a  very 
glorious  victory  !' 

c  What  has  happened  ? '  Corentin  inquired  carelessly. 
He  gave  Mile,  de  Verneuil  a  sidelong  glance,  such  as 
this  sort  of  diplomatist  uses  for  discovering  the  thoughts 
of  others. 

1  Ah  ! '  she  answered,  c  the  Gars  is  more  in  love  with 
me  than  ever,  and  I  made  him  come  with  us  as  far  as 

the  gates  of  Fougere3.> 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  293 


1  Apparently  that  is  where  your  power  ends,'  said 
Corentin,  c  and  the  ci-devant* s  fears  are  still  stronger  than 
the  love  which  you  inspire  in  him.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  glanced  contemptuously  at  Corentin. 

6  You  judge  him  by  yourself,'  she  replied. 

c  Well,'  he  said,  serenely,  c  why  did  you  not  bring  him 
as  far  as  your  own  house  ? 5 

c  If  he  really  loved  me,  commandant,'  she  said  to  Hulot, 
with  a  malicious  glance,  *  would  you  bear  a  grudge 
against  me  if  I  saved  him  and  bore  him  away  out  of 
France  ? ' 

The  old  veteran  went  quickly  up  to  her,  and  took  her 
hand  as  if  to  kiss  it,  with  a  sort  of  enthusiasm ;  then  he 
gazed  steadily  at  her  and  said,  as  his  brow  grew  dark — 

c  You  forget  my  two  friends,  and  my  sixty-three 
men  ! ' 

*  Ah  !  commandant,'  she  said,  with  all  the  naivete  of 
passion,  6  that  was  not  his  fault,  he  was  tricked  by  a  bad 
woman,  Charette's  mistress,  who,  I  believe,  would  drink 
the  blood  of  the  Blues.' 

c  Come,  Marie,'  Corentin  put  in,  c  do  not  make  fun  of 
the  commandant ;  he  does  not  understand  your  jests  as 
yet.' 

4  Be  silent,'  she  answered,  'and  know  that  the  day  on 
which  you  annoy  me  a  little  too  much  will  be  your  last.' 

c  I  see,  mademoiselle,'  said  Hulot,  with  no  bitterness  in 
his  tone,  c  that  I  must  prepare  to  fight.' 

c  You  are  in  no  condition  to  do  so,  my  dear  colonel. 
I  saw  more  than  six  thousand  of  their  men  at  Saint 
James ;  regular  troops,  and  ordnance,  and  English  officers. 
But  without  himy  what  will  become  of  all  these  people  ? 
I  think,  as  Fouche  does,  that  his  head  is  everything.' 

c  Very  well,  when  shall  we  have  it  ? '  Corentin  asked 
impatiently. 

'  I  do  not  know,'  was  her  careless  response. 

c  English  officers  ! '  cried  Hulot,  in  hot  wrath,  6  the  one 
thing  wanting  to  make  a  downright  brigand  of  him  ! 


The  Chouans 


Ah  !  I  will  fit  him  up  with  his  Englishmen,  that  I  will ! 
...  It  seems  to  me,  citizen  diplomatist,  that  you  allow 
that  girl  to  upset  all  your  plans  from  time  to  time,'  was 
Hulot's  remark  to  Corentin,  when  they  were  a  few  paces 
distant  from  the  house. 

c  It  is  quite  natural,  citizen  commandant,'  said  Corentin^ 
with  a  pensive  air,  *  that  you  are  bewildered  by  all  that 
she  has  told  us.  You  men  of  the  sword  do  not  know 
that  there  are  several  ways  of  making  war.  To  make  a 
dexterous  use  of  the  passions  of  men  and  women,  as  so 
many  springs  which  can  be  set  in  motion  for  the  benefit 
of  the  State ;  to  set  in  position  all  the  wheels  in  the 
mighty  piece  of  machinery  that  we  call  a  Government ; 
to  take  a  pleasure  in  setting  within  it  the  most  stubborn 
sentiments,  like  detents  whose  action  one  can  amuse 
oneself  by  controlling ;  is  not  all  this  the  work  of  a 
creator  ?  Is  it  not  a  position  like  God's,  in  the  centre  of 
the  universe  ? 9 

c  You  will  permit  me  to  prefer  my  trade  to  yours,'  the 
soldier  answered  drily.  c  Do  as  you  will  with  that 
machinery  of  yours  ;  I  acknowledge  no  superior  but  the 
Minister  of  War.  I  have  my  instructions,  and  I  shall 
take  the  field  with  stout  fellows  who  will  not  skulk,  and 
openly  confront  the  enemy  whom  you  wish  to  take  from 
behind.' 

c  Oh,  you  can  get  ready  to  march  if  you  like,'  Corentin 
rejoined.  c  Inscrutable  as  you  may  think  this  girl,  I  have 
managed  to  gather  from  her  that  there  will  be  some 
skirmishing  for  you ;  and  before  very  long  I  shall  have 
the  pleasure  of  obtaining  for  you  a  tete-a-tete  with  the 
chief  of  these  brigands.' 

c  How  will  you  do  that  ? '  inquired  Hulot,  stepping 
back  a  little,  the  better  to  see  this  singular  being, 

*  Mile,  de  Verneuil  loves  the  Gars,'  Corentin  answered 
in  a  stifled  voice,  c  and  very  likely  he  is  in  love  with  her. 
He  is  a  Marquis,  he  wears  the  red  ribbon,  he  is  young, 
and  he  has  a  clever  head,  who  knows  but  that  he  may 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  295 

still  be  wealthy, — how  many  inducements  '  She  would 
be  very  foolish  not  to  play  for  her  own  hand,  and  try  to 
marry  him  rather  than  give  him  up  to  us.  She  is 
endeavouring  to  keep  us  amused,  but  I  can  read  a  kind  of 
misgiving  in  the  girl's  eyes.  The  two  lovers  will  most 
probably  arrange  a  meeting,  perhaps  they  have  done  so 
already.  Well,  then,  to-morrow  I  shall  have  my  man 
fast  enough.  Hitherto  he  was  the  enemy  of  the  Republic 
and  nothing  more,  but  a  few  minutes  ago  he  became 
mine  as  well,  for  all  those  who  have  taken  it  into  their 
heads  to  come  between  this  girl  and  me  have  died  on  the 
scaffold.' 

When  he  had  finished,  Corentin  became  too  much 
absorbed  in  his  own  meditations  to  notice  the  expression 
of  intense  disgust  on  the  true-hearted  soldier's  face. 
When  Hulot  became  aware  of  the  depths  in  this  intrigue, 
and  of  the  nature  of  the  springs  employed  in  Fouche's 
machinery,  he  made  up  his  mind  at  once  to  thwart 
Corentin  in  every  matter  in  which  the  success  of  the 
enterprise  or  the  wishes  of  the  Government  were  not 
essentially  concerned,  and  to  give  to  the  foe  of  the 
Republic  a  chance  of  dying  honourably  sword  in  hand, 
before  he  could  fall  a  victim  to  the  executioner,  whose 
avowed  caterer  stood  before  him  in  the  person  of  this 
secret  agent  of  the  upper  powers  of  the  police. 

*  If  the  First  Consul  were  to  take  my  advice,'  he  said, 
turning  his  back  on  Corentin,  c  he  would  leave  this  kind 
of  fox  to  fight  it  out  with  the  aristocrats — they  would  be 
well  matched — -and  he  should  employ  soldiers  in  quite 
other  business.' 

Corentin  looked  coolly  at  the  veteran  (whose  thoughts 
shone  out  plainly  in  his  face),  and  a  sardonic  expression 
returned  to  his  eyes,  revealing  a  sensu  of  superiority  in 
this  Machiavellian  understrapper. 

c  Give  three  ells  of  blue  cloth  to  brutes  of  that  sort, 
and  hang  a  bit  of  iron  at  their  sides,  and  they  fancy  that 
in  politics  men  may  only  be  got  rid  of  after  one  fashion,' 


296 


The  Chouans 


said  he  to  himself.  He  walked  slowly  on  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  suddenly  exclaimed  within — 

c  Yes,  the  hour  has  come,  and  the  woman  shall  be 
mine  !  The  circle  that  I  have  traced  about  her  has  been 
gradually  growing  smaller  and  smaller  for  five  years ;  I 
have  her  now,  and  with  her  help  I  shall  climb  as  high  in 
the  Government  as  Fouche.  .  .  .  Yes,  when  she  loses 
the  one  man  whom  she  has  loved,  the  agony  of  it  will 
give  her  to  me  body  and  soul.  All  that  I  have  to  do 
now  is  to  keep  a  watch  on  her  night  and  day,  to  surprise 
her  secret.' 

A  moment  later  an  onlooker  might  have  seen  Corentin's 
pale  face  at  the  window  of  a  house  whence  he  could 
behold  every  one  who  came  into  the  blind  alley,  between 
the  row  of  houses  and  St.  Leonard's  Church.  He  was 
there  again  on  the  morning  of  the  next  day ;  patient  as  a 
cat  that  lies  in  wait  for  a  mouse,  attentive  to  the  slightest 
sound,  and  engaged  in  submitting  every  passer-by  to  a 
rigorous  scrutiny.  It  was  the  morning  of  a  market  day  ; 
and  although  in  those  troubled  times  the  peasants  scarcely 
ventured  to  come  to  the  town,  Corentin  saw  a  gloomy 
looking  man  clad  in  goatskins,  who  carried  a  small  round 
flat-shaped  basket  on  his  arm,  and  who  went  towards 
Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house,  after  giving  a  careless  look 
round  about  him.  Corentin  came  down  from  his  post, 
purposing  to  stop  the  peasant  as  he  came  out ;  but  it 
suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  if  he  could  enter  Mile,  de 
Verneuil's  house  at  unawares,  a  single  glance  might 
possibly  surprise  the  secret  hidden  in  the  messenger's 
basket.  Popular  report,  moreover,  had  taught  him  that 
it  was  all  but  impossible  to  come  off  best  in  an  encounter 
with  the  impenetrable  replies  that  Normans  and  Bretons 
are  wont  to  make. 

4  Galope-Chopine ! '  cried  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  as 
Francine  brought  in  the  Chouan. 

4  Am  I  then  beloved  ? '  she  added  to  herself  in  a  low 
voice.    An  instinct  of  hope  brought  a  bright  colour  to 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  297 


her  face,  and  put  joy  in  her  heart.  Galope-Chopine 
looked  by  turns  at  the  mistress  of  the  house  and  at 
Francine,  casting  suspicious  glances  at  the  latter,  until 
his  doubts  were  removed  by  a  sign  from  Mile,  de 
Verneuil. 

c  Madame,'  he  said,  1  towards  two  o'clock  he  will  be  at 
my  place,  waiting  for  you.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil's  agitation  was  so  great  that  she 
could  only  bend  her  head  in  reply,  but  a  Samoyede  could 
have  understood  all  its  significance.  Corentin's  footsteps 
echoed  in  the  salon  at  that  moment.  Galope-Chopine 
was  not  disturbed  in  the  least  when  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
glance  and  shudder  made  him  aware  of  approaching 
danger.  As  soon  as  the  spy  showed  his  astute  coun- 
tenance, the  Chouan  raised  his  voice  to  a  deafening  pitch. 

c  Yes,  yes!'  he  said  to  Francine,  'there  is  Brittany 
butter  and  Brittany  butter.  You  want  Gibarry  butter, 
and  only  give  eleven  sous  the  pound  for  it  ?  You  ought 
not  to  have  sent  for  me  !  This  is  really  good  butter,'  he 
said,  opening  his  basket,  and  exhibiting  two  pats  that 
Barbette  had  made  up.  'Pay  a  fair  price,  good  lady. 
Come,  another  sou  !  '  There  was  no  trace  of  agitation 
in  his  hollow  voice,  and  his  green  eyes,  underneath  the 
bushy  grey  eyebrows,  bore  Corentin's  keen  scrutiny  with- 
out flinching. 

4  Come  now,  my  man,  hold  your  tongue.  You  did  not 
come  here  to  sell  butter;  you  are  dealing  with  a  lady 
who  never  drove  a  bargain  in  her  life.  Your  line  of 
business,  old  boy,  will  leave  you  shorter  by  a  head  some 
of  these  days.' 

Corentin  tapped  him  amicably  on  the  shoulder  and 
continued,  c  You  cannot  be  in  the  service  of  both 
Chouans  and  Blues  at  once  for  very  long.' 

It  took  all  Galope-Chopine's  self-possession  to  choke 
down  his  wrath,  and  so  prevent  himself  from  rebutting 
this  accusation,  which,  owing  to  his  avarice,  was  a  true 
one.    He  contented  himself  with  saying — 


298 


The  Chouans 


c  The  gentleman  has  a  mind  to  laugh  at  me.' 

Corentin  had  turned  his  back  upon  the  Chouan  ;  but 
as  he  greeted  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  whose  heart  stood  still 
with  terror,  he  could  easily  watch  the  man  in  the  mirror. 
Galope-Chopine,  who  believed  that  the  spy  could  no 
longer  see  him,  looked  inquiringly  at  Francine,  and 
Francine  pointed  to  the  door,  saying — 

c  Come  along  with  me,  good  man  ;  we  shall  always 
manage  to  settle  things  comfortably.' 

Nothing  had  been  lost  upon  Corentin.  He  had  seen 
everything.  He  had  noticed  the  contraction  of  Mile,  de 
VerneuiPs  mouth,  which  her  smile  had  failed  to  disguise  ; 
and  her  red  flush,  and  the  alteration  in  her  features,  as 
well  as  the  Chouan's  uneasiness  and  Francine's  gesture. 
He  felt  certain  that  Galope-Chopine  was  a  messenger 
from  the  Marquis,  caught  at  the  long  hair  of  the  man's 
goatskins,  stopped  him  just  as  he  was  going  out,  drew 
him  back  so  that  he  confronted  his  own  steady  gaze,  and 
said — 

c  Where  do  you  live,  my  good  friend  ?  /  want  , 
butter  ' 

cGood  gentleman,'  the  Chouan  answered,  Everybody 
in  Fougeres  knows  where  I  live.  I  am,  as  you  may 
say  ' 

c  Corentin  ! 9  cried  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  breaking  in  upon 
Galope-Chopine's  answer,  4  it  is  a  great  piece  of  presump- 
tion on  your  part  to  pay  me  a  visit  at  this  time  of  day, 
and  to  take  me  by  surprise  like  this  !  I  am  scarcely 
dressed  !  Leave  the  peasant  in  peace,  he  understands 
your  tactics  as  little  as  I  understand  your  motives  for 
them.    Go,  good  fellow  ! ' 

Galope-Chopine  hesitated  for  a  moment  before  he 
went.  The  indecision  of  an  unlucky  wretch  who  cannot 
tell  whom  he  must  obey,  whether  it  was  real  or  feigned, 
had  already  succeeded  in  deceiving  Corentin  ;  and  the 
Chouan,  at  an  imperative  gesture  from  Marie,  tramped 
heavily  away.    Then  Mile,  de  Vernenil  and  Corentin 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  299 

looked  at  one  another  in  silence.  This  time  Marie's 
clear  eyes  could  not  endure  the  intensity  of  the  arid  glare 
that  was  shed  upon  her  in  the  other's  gaze.  The  deter- 
mined manner  with  which  the  spy  had  made  his  way 
into  her  room,  an  expression  on  his  face  which  was  new 
to  Marie,  the  dull  sound  of  his  thin  voice,  his  attitude, 
everything  about  him,  alarmed  her.  She  felt  that  a  secret 
struggle  had  begun  between  them,  and  that  he  was  exert- 
ing all  the  powers  of  his  sinister  influence  against  her  ; 
but  although  at  that  moment  she  distinctly  beheld  the 
full  extent  of  the  gulf,  and  the  depths  to  which  she 
had  consigned  herself,  she  drew  sufficient  strength  from 
her  love  to  shake  off  the  icy  cold  of  her  presentiments. 

c  Corentin,'  she  began,  with  an  attempt  at  mirth,  c  I 
hope  you  will  allow  me  to  finish  my  toilette.' 

'  Marie,'  said  he,  c — yes,  allow  me  to  call  you  so — you 
do  not  know  me  yet !  Listen  !  A  less  sharp-sighted 
man  than  I  am  would  have  found  out  your  love  for  the 
Marquis  de  Montauran  before  this.  I  have  again  and 
again  offered  you  my  heart  and  my  hand.  You  did  not 
think  me  worthy  of  you,  and  perhaps  you  are  right ;  but 
if  you  think  that  you  are  too  much  above  me,  too 
beautiful  or  too  high-minded  for  me,  I  can  easily  make 
you  come  down  to  my  level.  My  ambitions  and  my 
doctrines  have  inspired  you  with  scanty  respect  for  me, 
and,  to  be  plain  with  you,  you  are  wrong.  The  value  of 
men  is  even  less  than  my  estimate  of  them,  and  I  rate 
them  at  next  to  nothing.  There  can  be  no  doubt  but 
that  I  shall  attain  to  a  high  position,  to  honours  that 
will  gratify  your  pride.  Who  will  love  you  better  than 
I  ?  Over  whom  will  you  have  such  an  absolute 
dominion  as  over  the  man  who  has  loved  you  for  five 
years  past  *  At  the  risk  of  making  an  impression  upon 
you  which  will  not  be  in  my  favour  (for  you  have  no 
idea  that  it  is  possible  to  renounce,  through  excess  of  love, 
the  woman  whom  one  worships),  I  will  give  you  a 
measure  of  the  disinterested  affection  with  which  I  adore 


3oo 


The  Chouans 


you.  Do  not  shake  your  pretty  head  in  that  way.  If 
the  Marquis  loves  you,  marry  him,  but  first  make  quite 
sure  of  his  sincerity.  If  I  knew  that  you  were  dis- 
appointed in  him,  I  should  be  in  despair,  for  your  hap- 
piness is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own.  My  determination 
may  surprise  you,  but  you  must  ascribe  it  simply  to  the 
prudence  of  a  man  who  is  not  fool  enough  to  wish  to 
possess  a  woman  against  her  will.  I  blame  myself,  more- 
over, and  not  you,  for  the  futility  of  my  efforts.  I  hoped 
to  win  you  by  dint  of  submission  and  devotion  ;  for,  as 
you  know,  for  a  long  time  past  I  have  tried  to  make  you 
happy,  after  my  notions;  but  you  have  thought  fit  to 
reward  me  for  nothing.' 

c  I  have  endured  your  presence,'  she  said  haughtily. 

4  Say  further  that  you  are  sorry  to  have  done  so.' 

4  After  you  have  committed  me  to  this  disgraceful 
enterprise,  are  thanks  still  owing  to  you  ?  * 

4  When  I  proposed  an  undertaking  to  you,  in  which 
timorous  souls  might  find  something  blameworthy,  I  had 
only  your  fortune  in  view,'  he  answered  audaciously. 
c  As  for  me,  whether  I  succeed  or  fail,  I  can  now  make 
every  sort  of  result  conduce  to  the  ultimate  success  of 
my  plans.  If  you  should  marry  Montauran,  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  make  myself  useful  to  the  Bourbon  cause  in 
Paris,  where  I  am  a  member  of  the  Clichy  Club.  As  it 
happens,  any  circumstance  that  put  me  in  correspondence 
with  the  princes  would  persuade  me  to  quit  the  cause  of 
a  Republic  which  is  tottering  to  its  fall.  General 
Bonaparte  is  far  too  clever  not  to  perceive  that  he  cannot 
possibly  be  at  once  in  Germany  and  Italy  and  here  where 
the  Revolution  is  on  the  wane.  He  arranged  the  i8th 
Brumaire  because,  no  doubt,  he  wished  to  obtain  the  best 
possible  terms  from  the  Bourbons,  in  treating  with  them 
as  to  France ;  for  he  is  a  very  clever  fellow,  and  has  no 
lack  of  capacity.  But  politicians  ought  to  get  ahead  of 
him  on  the  road  on  which  he  has  entered.  As  to  betray- 
ing France,  we  who  are  superior  to  any  scruples  on  that 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  301 


score,  can  leave  them  to  fools.  I  am  fully  empowered — I 
do  not  conceal  it  from  you — either  to  open  negotiations 
with  the  Chouan  chiefs  or  to  extirpate  them  ;  for  my 
patron  Fouche  is  deep  fellow  enough,  he  has  always 
played  a  double  game.  During  the  Terror  he  was  at 
once  for  Robespierre  and  for  Danton  " 

c  Whom  you  forsook  like  a  coward  ! '  she  said. 

c  Rubbish,'  replied  Corentin  ;  4  he  is  dead,  forget  him. 
Come,  speak  your  mind  frankly  ;  I  have  set  the  example. 
The  chief  of  demi-brigade  is  shrewder  than  he  looks, 
and  if  you  wish  to  elude  the  watch  he  keeps,  I  might  be 
useful  to  you.  So  long  as  you  stay  here,  beneath  his  eye, 
you  are  at  the  mercy  of  his  police.  You  see  how  quickly 
he  learned  that  the  Chouan  was  with  you  !  How  could 
his  military  sagacity  fail  to  make  it  plain  to  him  that 
your  least  movements  would  keep  him  informed  as  to 
the  whereabouts  of  the  Marquis,  if  you  are  loved  by 
Montauran  ? 9 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  never  heard  such  gently  affec- 
tionate tones  before.  Corentin  seemed  to  be  absolutely 
sincere,  and  to  put  full  trust  in  her.  The  poor  girl's 
heart  so  readily  received  generous  impressions,  that  she 
was  about  to  intrust  her  secret  to  the  serpent  who  had 
wound  his  coils  about  her.  She  bethought  herself,  how- 
ever, that  she  had  no  proof  whatever  that  this  crafty  talk 
was  genuine,  and  so  she  felt  no  hesitation  about  deceiv- 
ing the  man  who  was  watching  her. 

c  Well,'  she  answered,  c  you  have  guessed  my  secret, 
Corentin.  Yes,  I  love  the  Marquis ;  but  I  am  not  loved 
by  him,  pr  at  least,  I  fear  not ;  so  that  the  rendezvous 
he  has  made  seems  to  me  to  hide  some  trap.' 

c  But  you  told  us  yesterday  that  he  had  come  with  you 
as  far  as  Fougeres,'  Corentin  replied.  6  If  he  had 
intended  violence,  you  would  not  be  here.' 

c  Your  heart  is  withered,  Corentin.  You  can  base 
cunningly  contrived  schemes  on  the  occurrences  of 
ordinary  life,  but  you  cannot  reckon  with  the  course  of 


302 


The  Chouans 


passion.  Perhaps  that  is  the  cause  of  the  aversion  that 
you  always  inspire  in  me.  But  as  you  are  so  clear-sighted, 
try  to  understand  how  it  is  that  a  man  from  whom  the 
day  before  yesterday  I  parted  in  anger  is  waiting  eagerly 
for  me  to-day  on  the  Mayenne  road,  at  a  house  in 
Florigny,  towards  the  end  of  the  day  * 

At  this  confession,  which  seemed  to  have  escaped  from 
her  in  a  moment  of  excitement  natural  enough  in  a 
nature  so  passionate  and  outspoken,  Corentin  reddened, 
for  he  was  still  young ;  but  furtively  he  gave  her  one  of 
those  keen  glances  that  try  to  explore  the  soul.  Mile,  de 
Verneuil's  feigned  revelation  of  self  had  been  made  so 
skilfully  that  the  spy  was  deceived.  He  made  answer 
with  a  semblance  of  good  nature,  c  Would  you  like  me 
to  follow  you  at  a  distance  ?  I  would  take  soldiers  in 
plain  clothes  with  me,  and  we  should  be  at  your  orders.' 

c  I  agree  to  it,'  said  she,  c  but  promise  me,  on  your 
honour — Oh,  no  !  for  I  put  no  faith  in  that ;  on  your 
salvation — but  you  do  not  believe  in  God  \  on  your  soul 
— but  perhaps  you  have  no  soul.  What  guarantee  can 
you  give  me  of  your  fidelity  ?  And  yet  I  am  trusting  in 
you,  notwithstanding,  and  I  am  putting  into  your  hands 
more  than  my  life,  or  my  love,  or  my  revenge  ! ' 

The  faint  smile  that  appeared  over  Corentin's  sallow 
features  showed  Mile,  de  Verneuil  the  danger  that  she 
had  just  escaped.  The  agent  of  police,  whose  nostrils 
seemed  to  contract  rather  than  to  expand,  took  his 
victim's  hand  and  kissed  it  with  every  outward  sign  of 
deep  respect,  and  took  leave  of  her  with  a  not  ungraceful 
bow. 

Three  hours  later,  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  who  stood  in  fear 
of  Corentin's  return,  stole  out  of  St.  Leonard's  gate  and 
took  the  narrow  path  down  the  Nid-aux-Crocs,  which  led 
into  the  Nancon  valley.  She  thought  herself  safe  as  she 
went  unnoticed,  through  the  labyrinth  of  tracks  which 
led  to  Galope-Chopine's  cabin,  whither  she  betook  herself 
with  a  light  heart,  for  the  hope  of  happiness  led  her  on,  as 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  303 


well  as  a  strong  wish  to  save  her  lover  from  the  dangers 
that  threatened  him. 

Corentin,  meanwhile,  went  in  quest  of  the  com- 
mandant. He  had  some  difficulty  in  recognising  Hulot 
when  he  came  upon  him  in  a  little  square,  where  the 
commandant  was  deep  in  military  preparations.  Indeed, 
the  brave  veteran  had  made  a  sacrifice  of  which  the  merit 
can  hardly  be  estimated.  His  queue  had  been  cut  off,  he 
had  shaved  his  moustache,  and  there  was  a  trace  of 
powder  about  his  hair  which  was  clipped  as  short  as  a 
priest's.  He  wore  great  iron-bound  shoes,  and  had  ex- 
changed his  old  blue  uniform  and  his  sword  for  goat- 
skins, a  belt  adorned  with  pistols,  and  a  heavy  carbine. 
Thus  accoutred  he  was  reviewing  two  hundred  of  the 
townsmen  of  Fougeres,  whose  costumes  might  have  de- 
ceived the  eyes  of  the  most  expert  Chouan.  The  martial 
fervour  of  the  little  town  and  of  the  native  Breton 
character  was  very  evident.  There  was  no  novelty  about 
the  spectacle.  Here  and  there  a  mother  or  sister  carried 
to  a  son  or  brother  a  gourd  of  brandy  or  pistols  that  had 
been  forgotten.  A  number  of  old  men  were  investigating 
the  quality  and  quantity  of  the  cartridges  supplied  to  the 
National  Guards  thus  metamorphosed  into  Counter- 
Chouans,  whose  high  spirits  seemed  more  in  accordance 
with  a  hunting  party  than  with  a  dangerous  enterprise. 
The  skirmishes  of  Chouannerie,  wherein  Breton  towns- 
men fought  with  Breton  peasants,  appeared,  in  their  eyes, 
to  be  a  substitute  for  the  tournaments  of  chivalry. 
Possibly  this  fervid  patriotism  had  its  source  in  certain 
grants  of  National  property  ;  but  the  benefits  of  the 
Revolution  (which  were  better  appreciated  in  the  towns), 
as  well  as  party  spirit  and  a  characteristic  and  innate  love 
of  fighting,  all  counted  for  something  in  bringing  about 
their  enthusiasm. 

Hulot  went  through  the  ranks  in  admiration,  making 
inquiries  of  Gudin,  to  whom  he  had  transferred  the  friend- 
ship he  had  formerly  entertained  for  Merle  and  Gerard 


304  The  Chouans 

A  crowd  of  townspeople,  examining  the  preparations  for 
their  expedition,  compared  the  appearance  of  their  undis- 
ciplined fellow-countrymen  with  that  of  a  battalion  of 
Hulot's  own  demi-brigade. 

Silent  and  motionless,  the  Blues  stood  drawn  up  in  line, 
under  the  command  of  their  officers,  awaiting  the  orders 
of  the  commandant,  whom  the  eyes  of  every  soldier  fol- 
lowed about  from  group  to  group.  As  Corentin  ap- 
proached the  chief  of  demi-brigade,  he  could  not  repress 
a  smile  at  the  change  that  had  been  wrought  in  Hulot's 
face.  He  looked  like  a  portrait  which  no  longer  bears 
any  likeness  to  the  original. 

c  What  is  the  news  now  ? '  Corentin  asked  him. 

c  Come  and  fire  a  shot  along  with  us,  and  you  will 
know,'  the  commandant  replied. 

6  Oh  !  I  do  not  belong  to  Fougeres,'  answered  Corentin. 

*  That  is  easy  to  see,  citizen,'  said  Gudin. 

A  mocking  laugh  broke  out  here  and  there  among  the 
groups  of  bystanders. 

*  Do  you  imagine,'  retorted  Corentin,  c  that  France 
can  only  be  served  with  the  bayonet  ? '  He  turned  his 
back  on  the  scoffers  and  went  up  to  one  of  the  women  to 
inquire  the  purpose  and  the  destination  of  the  expedition. 

*  Alas  !  good  sir,  the  Chouans  are  even  now  at  Florigny  I 
They  say  that  they  are  more  than  three  thousand  strong, 
and  that  they  are  marching  on  Fougeres.' 

c  Florigny  ! '  cried  Corentin,  turning  pale. 

c  Then  her  rendezvous  is  not  there  !  ♦  .  .  Are  they 
really  at  Florigny  on  the  road  to  Mayenne  ? '  he  asked. 

c  There  is  only  one  Florigny,'  the  woman  answered, 
and  as  she  spoke,  she  indicated  the  road  that  was  cut 
short  by  the  summit  of  La  Pelerine. 

c  Are  you  looking  for  the  Marquis  de  Montauran  ? ' 
Corentin  asked  the  commandant. 

4  Rather  ! '  Hulot  answered  shortly. 

'Then  he  is  not  at  Florigny,1  Corentin  resumed. 
1  Bring  your  own  battalion  and  the  National  Guard  to 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  305 


bear  on  that  point,  but  keep  a  few  of  your  Counter- 
Chouans  with  you  and  wait  for  me.' 

cHe  is  too  cunning  to  be  mad/  the  commandant 
exclaimed,  as  he  watched  Corentin  set  off  with  hasty 
strides.    c  He  is  the  very  king  of  spies  ! ' 

Hulot  immediately  gave  his  battalion  a  signal  to  depart. 
The  Republican  soldiers  marched  silently  and  without 
beat  of  drum  through  the  narrow  suburb  that  lies  on  the 
way  to  the  Mayenne  road,  forming  a  long  streak  of  blue  and 
red  among  the  houses  and  trees.  The  disguised  National 
Guards  followed  them,  but  Hulot  stayed  behind  in  the 
little  square,  with  Gudin  and  a  score  of  the  smartest  of 
the  young  men  of  the  town.  He  was  waiting  for  Corentin, 
whose  enigmatical  air  had  roused  his  curiosity.  Francine 
herself  told  Corentin  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  gone  out, 
and  the  keen-witted  spy's  surmise  became  a  certainty.  He 
started  out  at  once  in  quest  of  any  light  that  he  could 
obtain  as  to  this  abrupt  departure,  which  with  good 
reason  seemed  suspicious  to  him.  Corentin  learned  from 
the  soldiers  in  the  guard-house  at  St.  Leonard's  gate 
that  the  fair  stranger  had  gone  down  the  path  on  the  side 
of  the  Nid-aux-Crocs ;  he  hurried  to  the  Promenade,  and 
unluckily  reached  it  just  in  time  to  watch  all  Marie's 
slightest  movements  from  his  post  of  observation.  Though 
she  had  dressed  herself  in  a  hood  and  gown  of  green,  so 
as  to  be  less  conspicuous,  the  quick  uneven  movements 
of  her  almost  frenzied  progress  among  the  hedges,  now 
leafless  and  white  with  hoar-frost,  readily  betrayed  the 
direction  in  which  she  was  going. 

c  Ah ! '  he  cried, c  you  should  by  rights  be  on  the  way  to 
Florigny,  and  you  are  going  down  the  dale  of  Gibarry  ! 
I  am  a  fool  after  all.  She  has  tricked  me.  Patience, 
though,  I  can  light  my  lamp  in  the  daytime  quite  as 
well  as  at  night.' 

Corentin,  who  had  all  but  detected  the  spot  where  the 
two  lovers  were  to  meet,  hurried  back  into  the  square 
just  as  Hulot  was  leaving  it  to  rejoin  his  troops. 

u 


306 


The  Chouans 


*  Halt,  general ! '  he  shouted,  and  the  commandant 
came  back.  In  a  brief  space  Corentin  put  the  soldier  in 
possession  of  the  facts  that  seemed  to  be  visible  threads  in 
a  web  as  yet  concealed  from  them.  Hulot,  struck  with 
the  diplomatist's  astuteness,  seized  him  by  the  arm. 

c  Mille  tonnerres !  you  are  right,  citizen  Pry  !  The 
bandits  down  there  are  making  a  feint !  The  two  flying 
columns  that  I  sent  out  to  reconnoitre  the  neighbourhood 
which  lies  between  the  road  to  Antrain  and  the  road  to 
Vitre  have  not  yet  come  back.  So  we  shall,  no  doubt,  obtain 
reinforcements  in  the  country  which  will  come  in  handy, 
for  the  Gars  is  not  such  a  fool  as  to  venture  out  without 
his  blessed  screech-owls.  Gudin,'  he  went  on,  addressing 
the  young  Fougerais,  6  hurry  off,  and  let  Captain  Lebrun 
know  that  he  can  do  without  me  at  Florigny ;  tell  him 
to  give  the  brigands  there  a  dressing-down,  and  come 
back  again  in  less  than  no  time.  You  know  the  short 
cuts.  I  shall  wait  for  you  here  to  set  out  on  a  hunt  for 
the  ci-devant,  and  to  avenge  the  murders  at  the  Vivetiere. 
Tonnerre  de  Dieu !  how  he  runs ! '  he  added,  as  he 
watched  Gudin  set  off,  and  vanish  as  if  by  magic.  c  How 
Gerard  would  have  liked  that  fellow  ! ! 

When  Gudin  came  back  he  found  the  numbers  of 
Hulot's  little  band  increased.  A  few  soldiers  had  been 
withdrawn  from  the  guard-houses  in  the  town.  The 
commandant  told  the  young  Fougerais  to  pick  out  a 
dozen  of  his  countrymen  who  were  best  acquainted  with 
the  risky  trade  of  Counter-Chouan,  and  ordered  him  to 
make  his  way  through  St.  Leonard's  gate  so  as  to  go  over 
the  whole  length  of  that  side  of  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice 
which  overlooked  the  main  valley  of  the  Couesnon,  the 
side  moreover  on  which  Galope-Chopine's  cabin  lay. 
Hulot  put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  remaining  men,  and 
went  out  of  the  town  through  the  gate  of  St.  Sulpice, 
meaning  to  climb  the  hills  and  to  follow  the  line  of  their 
crests,  where,  according  to  his  calculations,  he  ought  to 
fall  in  with  Beau-Pied  and  his  men,  whom  he  intended  to 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  307 


employ  in  forming  a  cordon  of  sentinels  who  should 
watch  the  crags  from  the  suburb  of  St.  Sulpice  as  far  as 
the  Nid-aux-Crocs. 

Corentin,  feeling  quite  certain  that  he  had  put  the  fate 
of  the  Chouan  chief  into  the  hands  of  his  bitterest  foes, 
promptly  betook  himself  to  the  Promenade,  the  better  to 
grasp  the  whole  of  Hulot's  military  dispositions.  He  was 
not  slow  to  perceive  Gudin's  little  band,  as  it  issued  from 
the  valley  of  the  Nancon,  and  followed  the  line  of  the  crags 
along  the  side  of  the  Couesnon  valley  ;  while  Hulot, 
breaking  cover,  stole  under  the  walls  of  the  castle  of 
Fougeres,  and  climbed  the  dangerous  path  that  ascends  to 
the  summits  of  the  hills  of  St.  Sulpice.  The  two  bodies 
of  men,  therefore,  appeared  in  parallel  lines.  The  rich 
tracery  of  hoar-frost  that  decorated  every  bush  and  tree 
had  given  a  white  hue  to  the  country  side,  which  made  it 
easy  to  watch  the  grey  moving  lines  of  the  two  small 
bodies  of  soldiers. 

When  Hulot  reached  the  level  heights  of  the  crags,  he 
called  out  all  the  men  in  uniform  among  his  troops,  and 
Corentin  saw  how  they  were  posted,  by  the  orders  of  the 
keen-sighted  commandant,  as  a  line  of  patrolling  sentinels, 
with  a  sufficient  distance  between  each  man.  The  first 
man  of  the  chain  communicated  with  Gudin,  and  the 
last  with  Hulot,  so  that  there  was  no  bush  that  could 
escape  the  bayonets  of  the  three  moving  lines  which  were 
to  hunt  down  the  Gars,  over  hill  and  field. 

4  The  old  war- wolf  is  crafty  ! '  cried  Corentin  as  the 
glittering  points  of  the  last  bayonets  disappeared  in  the 
adjoncs.  c  The  Gars's  goose  is  cooked  !  If  Marie  had 
betrayed  this  accursed  Marquis,  she  and  I  should  have  had 
the  strongest  of  all  bonds  between  us — the  bond  of  guilt. 
But  she  shall  certainly  be  mine  ! ' 

The  twelve  lads  from  Fougeres,  under  the  command 
Df  Gudin,  their  sub-lieutenant,  very  soon  reached  a  spot 
on  the  other  side  of  the  St.  Sulpice  crags,  where  they 
slope  by  degrees  into  the  dale  of  Gibarry.    Gudin  him- 


The  Chouans 


self  left  the  road,  and  vaulted  lightly  over  the  echalier  j 
into  the  first  field  of  broom  that  he  came  across.  Six  of 
his  fellows  went  with  him,  while  the  other  six,  in  obedi- 
ence to  his  orders,  took  the  fields  to  the  right,  so  that  in 
this  way  they  beat  up  both  sides  of  the  road.  Gudin 
himself  hurried  to  an  apple-tree  that  stood  in  the  midst 
of  the  broom.  At  the  sound  of  the  footsteps  of  the  six 
Counter-Chouans,  whom  Gudin  led  through  the  forest  of 
bushes,  making  every  effort  the  while  not  to  disturb  the 
rime  upon  them,  Beau-Pied  and  seven  or  eight  men 
under  his  command  hid  themselves  behind  some  chestnut 
trees  that  grew  on  the  summit  of  the  hedge,  by  which 
the  field  was  surrounded.  In  spite  of  the  white  covering 
that  enveloped  the  country,  and  in  spite  of  their  well- 
trained  eyes,  the  lads  from  Fougeres  at  first  did  not 
notice  the  others,  who  had  made  a  sort  of  rampart  of  the 
trees.  i 

c  Hush  ! '  said  Beau-Pied,  who  had  raised  his  head  first,  l 
c  here  they  are  !  The  brigands  have  got  ahead  of  us ;  ! 
but  since  we  have  them  here  at  the  ends  of  our  guns,  i 
don't  let  us  miss  them,  or,  my  word  for  it,  we  shall  not  ( 
even  be  fit  to  be  soldiers  to  the  Pope  ! ' 

Gudin's  keen  eyes,  however,  had  at  last  discerned  the  i 
barrels  of  the  muskets  that  were  pointed  at  his  little  1 
party.  Eight  loud  voices  immediately  shouted,  'Who  s 
goes  there !  9  a.  bitter  gibe  that  was  followed  up  at  a 
once  by  eight  shots.  The  bullets  whistled  about 
the  Counter-Chouans ;  one  was  hit  in  the  arm,  and  t 
another  dropped.  Five  of  the  party  who  remained  un-  i 
hurt  retorted  with  a  volley,  as  they  answered,  i  Friends  ! '  t 
and  marched  rapidly  upon  their  supposed  enemies,  so  as  o 
to  come  upon  them  before  they  could  reload.  e 

'  We  did  not  know  that  there  was  so  much  truth  in  n 
what  we  said,'  the  young  sub-lieutenant  exclaimed,  as  he  n 
recognised  the  uniforms  and  shabby  hats  of  his  demi-  p 
brigade.  c  We  have  acted  in  true  Breton  fashion,  fight-  1 
ing  first,  and  asking  for  explanations  afterwards.'  si 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  309 

The  eight  soldiers  stood  dumbfounded  at  the  sight  of 
Gudin.  c  Plague  take  it,  sir,  who  the  devil  could  help 
taking  you  for  the  brigands  in  those  goatskins  of  yours?' 
cried  Beau-Pied  dolefully. 

4  It  is  unlucky,  and  none  of  us  are  to  blame,  for  you 
were  not  told  beforehand  that  our  Counter-Chouans 
were  going  to  make  a  sortie.  But  what  are  you  about  ? ' 
Gudin  asked  him. 

4  We  are  looking  out  for  a  dozen  Chouans,  sir,  who 
are  amusing  themselves  by  breaking  our  backs.  We  have 
been  running  for  it  like  poisoned  rats,  but  our  legs  are 
stiff  with  jumping  over  these  echaliers  and  hedges  (heaven 
confound  them  !),  so  we  were  taking  a  rest.  I  think  by 
now  the  brigands  must  be  somewhere  near  the  shanty 
you  see  over  there  with  the  smoke  rising  from  it.' 

4  Good  ! '  cried  Gudin.  c  As  for  you,'  he  said  to  Beau- 
Pied,  and  his  eight  men,  4  fall  back  across  the  fields  on 
the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  support  the  line  of  sentinels 
that  the  commandant  has  posted  there.  It  will  not  do 
for  you  to  stay  with  us,  as  you  are  in  uniform.  Mille 
cartouches !  We  want  to  put  an  end  to  the  dogs ;  the 
Gars  is  among  them  !  Your  comrades  will  tell  you  more 
about  it  than  I  can.  File  to  the  left,  and  do  not  fire  on 
half-a-dozen  of  our  goatskins,  whom  you  may  come 
across.  You  can  tell  our  Chouans  by  their  cravats  ;  they 
are  wound  round  their  necks  without  a  knot.' 

Gudin  left  the  two  wounded  men  under  the  apple- 
tree,  and  went  towards  Galope-Chopine's  house,  which 
Beau-Pied  had  pointed  out  to  him,  guided  by  the  smoke 
that  rose  from  it.  While  the  young  officer  had  been  put 
on  the  track  of  the  Chouans  by  a  chance  fray  common 
enough  in  this  war,  but  which  might  have  been  much 
more  serious,  the  little  detachment  under  Hulot's  com- 
mand had  reached  a  point  in  his  line  of  operations 
parallel  with  that  reached  by  Gudin  on  the  other  side. 
The  veteran,  at  the  head  of  his  Counter-Chouans, 
stole  noiselessly  along  the  hedges  with  all  the  eagerness 


3rd 


The  Chouans 


of  a  young  man.  He  sprang  over  the  echaliers  lightly 
enough,  even  now  >  his  tawny  eyes  wandered  over  the 
heights,  and  he  turned  his  ear  like  a  hunter  towards  the 
slightest  sound.  In  the  third  field  which  he  entered  hi 
saw  a  woman  of  thirty,  or  thereabouts,  engaged  in  hoeing. 
She  was  hard  at  work,  and  bending  over  her  toil ;  while 
a  little  boy,  about  seven  or  eight  years  old,  armed  with 
a  bill-hook,  was  shaking  the  hoar-frost  from  a  few  furze- 
bushes  that  had  sprung  up  here  and  there,  before  cutting 
them  down,  and  laying  them  in  heaps.  The  little  urchin 
and  his  mother  raised  their  heads  at  the  sound  that 
Hulot  made,  as  he  came  down  heavily  on  the  near  side 
of  the  ichalier.  Hulot  readily  took  the  young  woman 
for  an  old  one.  Wrinkles  had  come  before  their  time 
to  furrow  the  skin  of  the  Breton  woman's  throat  and 
brow ;  and  she  was  so  oddly  dressed,  in  a  well-worn 
goatskin,  that  if  a  skirt  of  dirty  yellow  canvas  had  not 
denoted  her  sex,  Hulot  would  not  have  known  whether 
the  peasant  was  a  man  or  a  woman,  for  the  long  locks  of 
her  black  hair  were  hidden  away  under  a  red  woollen 
cap.  The  little  urchin's  rags  scarcely  covered  him,  and 
his  skin  showed  through  them. 

c  Hollo  !  old  woman,'  said  Hulot  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
came  up  to  her.    c  Where  is  the  Gars  ? ' 

The  twenty  Counter-Chouans  who  followed  him  leapt 
the  boundary  into  the  field  at  that  moment. 

c  Oh  !  to  go  to  the  Gars,  you  must  go  back  to  the 
place  you  have  come  from,'  the  woman  replied,  after  she 
had  given  a  suspicious  glance  round  at  the  men. 

c  Did  I  ask  you  the  way  to  the  suburb  of  the  Gars  at 
Fougeres,  old  scarecrow  ?  '  Hulot  answered  roughly. 
c  St.  Anne  of  Auray  !    Have  you  seen  the  Gars  go  by  ? ' 

i  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean,'  the  woman  answered, 
stooping  to  go  on  with  her  work. 

4  Do  you  want  the  Blues  on  our  track  to  swallow 
us  up,  accursed  garce  ? '  shouted  Hulot. 

The  woman  raised  her  head  at  the  words,  and  eyed 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow 


31* 


the  Chouans  with  fresh  suspicion  as  she  answered,  c  How 
can  the  Blues  be  at  your  heels  ?  I  have  just  seen  seven 
or  eight  of  them  going  back  to  Fougeres  along  the  road 
below  there.' 

c  Now,  would  not  any  one  think  that  she  had  a  mind 
to  bite  us  ? '  asked  Hulot.  1  There  !  look  there,  old 
nanny-goat ! '  The  commandant  pointed  to  three  or 
four  of  his  own  sentries,  some  fifty  paces  behind,  whose 
hats,  uniforms,  and  guns  were  easily  recognisable. 

'Do  you  want  the  men  whom  Marche-a-Terre  is 
sending  to  help  the  Gars  to  have  their  throats  cut  ?  The 
Fougeres  people  want  to  catch  them  ! '  he  said  angrily. 

4  Ah  !  I  beg  your  pardon,'  the  woman  answered,  6  but 
it  is  so  easy  to  make  a  mistake  !  What  parish  do  you 
come  from  ? '  she  asked. 

'From  Saint  George's,'  cried  two  or  three  of  the 
Fougeres  men  in  Bas-Breton,  'and  we  are  perishing  of 
hunger.' 

c  Very  well,  stop  a  moment,'  said  the  woman.  c  Do 
you  see  that  smoke  yonder  ?  My  house  is  there.  If 
you  follow  the  track  to  the  right,  you  will  come  out  up 
above  it.  Perhaps  you  may  meet  my  husband  on  the 
way.  Galope-Ghopine  has  to  keep  a  look  out,  so  as  to 
warn  the  Gars  \  for  he  has  come  to  our  house  to-day, 
you  know,'  she  added  proudly. 

c  Thanks,  good  woman,'  Hulot  answered.  i Forward  ! ' 
he  added,  speaking  to  his  men.  c  Tonnerre  de  Dieu ! 
We  have  him  now  ! ' 

At  these  words  the  detachment  followed  the  com- 
mandant at  a  run,  down  the  footpath  that  had  been 
pointed  out  to  them.  But  when  Galope-Chopine's  wife 
heard  the  oath,  which  so  little  beseemed  a  Catholic, 
uttered  by  the  supposed  Chouan,  she  turned  pale.  She 
looked  at  the  gaiters  and  goatskins  of  the  lads  from 
Fougeres,  sat  herself  down  on  the  ground,  and  held  her 
child  in  a  tight  embrace,  as  she  said — 

1  May  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Auray  and  the  blessed  St. 


The  Chouans 


Labre  have  mercy  upon  us  !  I  do  not  believe  that  those 
are  our  people ;  their  shoes  have  no  nails  to  them.  .  .  . 
Run  along  the  lower  road  and  tell  your  father  about  it. 
His  head  is  at  stake,'  she  said  to  the  little  boy,  who 
vanished  among  the  broom  and  furze  like  a  fawn. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  however,  had  met  no  one  belonging 
to  either  side  upon  her  way  ;  though  Blues  and  Chouans 
were  hunting  each  other  in  the  labyrinth  of  fields  that 
lay  round  Galope-Chopine's  cabin.  When  she  came  in 
sight  of  the  column  of  bluish  smoke  which  rose  from  the 
half-ruined  chimney  of  the  wretched  dwelling,  she  felt 
her  heart  beating  so  violently  that  the  quick  vibrating 
throbs  seemed  to  surge  into  her  throat.  She  stopped, 
laid  her  hand  on  the  branch  of  a  tree  to  steady  herself, 
and  gazed  at  the  smoke  which  was  to  serve  for  a  beacon 
alike  to  the  friends  and  foes  of  the  young  chief.  Never 
before  had  she  felt  such  overwhelming  emotion. 

4  Ah  !  I  love  him  too  much  ! '  she  said  to  herself  in  a 
kind  of  despair  5  *  perhaps  to-day  I  shall  have  command 
of  myself  no  longer.' 

She  suddenly  crossed  the  space  that  lay  between  her 
and  the  hovel,  and  came  into  the  yard,  whose  muddy 
surface  was  now  hard  frozen.  The  great  dog  flew 
barking  at  her,  but  at  a  word  from  Galope-Chopine  he 
ceased,  and  wagged  his  tail.  As  she  entered  the  hut 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  gave  a  comprehensive  glance  round  it. 
The  Marquis  was  not  there.  Marie  breathed  more 
freely.  She  was  glad  to  see  that  the  Chouan  had  made 
an  effort  to  restore  some  amount  of  cleanliness  to  the 
one  dirty  room  of  his  den.  Galope-Chopine  seized  his 
duck-gun,  took  leave  of  his  visitor  without  uttering  a 
word,  and  went  out  with  his  dog.  Marie  went  after 
him  as  far  as  the  threshold,  and  watched  him  turn  to  the 
right,  when  outside  his  cabin,  into  a  lane,  whose  entrance 
was  barred  by  the  decayed  trunk  of  a  tree  that  was 
almost  dropping  to  pieces.  From  the  doorway  she  could 
see  field  beyond  field.    The  bars  across  their  openings 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  313 


made  a  sort  of  vista  of  gateways,  for  the  bareness  of  the 
trees  and  hedges  enabled  the  eye  to  see  the  smallest 
details  in  the  landscape. 

As  soon  as  Galope-Chopine's  great  hat  was  quite  out 
of  sight,  Mile,  de  Verneuil  went  out  and  turned  to  the 
left  to  gain  a  view  of  the  church  at  Fougeres;  but  the  shed 
hid  it  from  her  completely.  Then  she  turned  her  gaze 
upon  the  Couesnon  valley,  which  lay  beneath  her  eyes  like 
a  great  sheet  of  muslin ;  its  whiteness  made  the  lowering 
sky,  with  its  grey  snow  clouds,  seem  heavier  yet.  It  was 
one  of  those  days  when  nature  seems  to  be  dumb,  and 
every  sound  is  absorbed  by  the  air ;  so  that  although  the 
Blues  and  Counter-Chouans  were  traversing  the  country 
in  three  lines,  in  the  form  of  a  triangle  that  diminished 
as  they  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  cabin,  the  silence 
was  so  deep  that  Mile,  de  Verneuil  felt  a  trouble  caused 
by  her  surroundings,  and  a  kind  of  physical  sadness  was 
added  to  her  mental  anguish.  There  was  calamity  in  the 
air.  At  last,  in  a  spot  where  the  vista  of  echaliers  was 
screened  off  by  a  few  trees,  she  saw  a  young  man  leaping 
over  the  bars  like  a  squirrel,  and  running  with  wonderful 
speed. 

'  It  is  he  ! '  she  said  to  herself. 

The  Gars  was  dressed  like  any  other  Chouan.  His 
blunderbuss  was  slung  behind  him  over  his  goatskin,  and 
but  for  his  grace  of  movement  he  would  have  been 
unrecognisable.  Marie  fled  into  the  cabin,  acting  upon 
an  instinctive  impulse  as  little  explainable  as  fear;  but 
almost  immediately  the  young  chief  stood  at  a  distance  of 
two  paces  from  her,  before  the  hearth,  where  a  clear 
and  glowing  fire  was  crackling.  Neither  of  them  could 
find  a  voice  ;  each  of  them  feared  to  move  or  to  look  at  the 
other.  One  hope  united  their  thoughts  ;  one  doubt  held 
them  apart — it  was  agony  and  it  was  rapture. 

*  Sir,'  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  at  last,  in  an  unsteady 
voice,  c  it  is  only  a  regard  for  your  safety  that  has  brought 
me  hither.' 


3*4 


The  Chouans 


4  For  my  safety  ? '  he  asked,  with  bitterness  in  his  tones. 

*  Yes,'  she  replied.  4  So  long  as  I  remain  in  Fougeres 
your  life  is  imperilled.  My  love  for  you  is  too  great  to 
prevent  me  from  going  away  to-night.  You  must  not 
seek  for  me  there  again.' 

c  You  are  going  away,  dear  angel  ? — Then  I  shall 
follow  you.' 

c  You  will  follow  me  ?  How  can  you  think  of  it  ? 
And  how  about  the  Blues  ? ' 

(  Ah  !  Marie,  my  beloved,  what  connection  is  there 
between  the  Blues  and  our  love  ? ' 

c  But  it  seems  to  me  that  it  is  difficult  for  you  to  remain 
in  France  beside  me,  and  still  more  difficult  for  you  to 
leave  it  with  me.' 

c  Is  there  anything  impossible  for  a  lover  who  is  in 
earnest  ? ' 

c  Ah !  yes.    I  believe  that  everything  is  possible.  .  . 
Have  I  not  had  the  courage  to  give  you  up  for  your  owir 
sake  ? ' 

c  What !  you  give  yourself  to  a  horrible  being  whom 
you  did  not  love,  and  you  will  not  make  the  happiness  o 
a  man  who  worships  you  ?    A  man  whose  life  you  would 
fill,  who  would  swear  to  be  yours  for  ever,  and  your 
only  ?  .  .  .  Listen  to  me,  Marie — do  you  love  me  ? ' 

c  Yes,'  she  said. 

4  Then  be  mine.' 

c  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  resumed  my  vile  part  of 
courtesan,  and  that  it  is  you  who  must  be  mine  ?  If  I  am 
determined  to  fly  from  you,  it  is  in  order  that  I  may  not 
draw  down  upon  your  head  the  scorn  that  may  be  poured 
on  mine.    Perhaps,  but  for  that  fear  ' 

c  But  if  /  fear  nothing  ? ' 

c  Who  will  convince  me  of  it  ?  I  am  distrustful. 
Who,  in  my  position,  would  not  be  distrustful  ?  If  the 
love  that  each  of  us  inspires  in  the  other  cannot  last,  let 
it  at  least  be  absolute,  so  that  we  may  joyfully  sustain  the 
burden  of  the  world's  injustice.    What  have  you  done 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  315 


for  my  sake  ?  You  desire  me.  Do  you  think  that  that 
raises  you  very  much  above  the  level  of  others  who  have 
hitherto  seen  me  ?  Have  you  risked  your  Chouans  for  an 
hour's  happiness,  taking  no  more  thought  for  them  than 
I  once  took  for  the  Blues  that  were  murdered  when 
everything  was  lost  for  me  ?  And  what  if  I  were  to  bid 
you  renounce  your  ideas,  your  hopes,  your  king,  of  whom 
I  am  jealous,  and  who  perhaps  will  deride  you  when  you 
die  for  him,  while  I  could  die  for  you,  as  a  sacred  duty  ? 
How  if  I  required  you  to  make  your  submission  to  the 
First  Consul,  so  that  you  might  follow  me  to  Paris  ?  .  .  . 
How  if  I  ordained  that  we  should  go  to  America,  that  we 
might  live  far  away  from  a  world  where  all  is  vanity,  so 
that  I  might  know  whether  you  really  love  me  for  my 
own  sake,  as  I  love  you  at  this  moment  ?  To  sum  it  all 
up  in  a  word — if  I  set  myself  to  drag  you  down  to  my 
level  instead  of  raising  myself  to  yours,  what  would 
you  do  ? 9 

*  Hush,  Marie !  do  not  slander  yourself.  Poor  child, 
I  have  read  your  thoughts.  If  my  first  desire  became 
passion,  so  my  passion  is  now  turned  into  love. 
Dear  soul  of  my  soul,  you  are  as  noble  as  your  name, 
your  soul  is  as  lofty  as  you  are  beautiful ;  I  know  it  now. 
My  name  is  noble  enough,  and  I  feel  that  I  myself  am 
great  enough  to  compel  the  world  to  accept  you.  Is  this 
because  I  feel  a  presentiment  of  undreamed  of  happiness 
without  an  end  with  you  ?  Is  it  because  I  feel  that  I 
recognise  in  you  the  priceless  qualities  of  soul  that  con- 
strain us  to  love  one  woman  for  ever  ?  I  do  not  know 
why  it  is,  but  my  love  is  infinite,  and  I  feel  that  I  can  no 
longer  live  without  you — that  my  life  would  be  loathsome 
to  me  if  you  were  not  always  near  me.' 

c  What  do  you  mean  by  "  near  you  "  ? ' 

(  Oh,  Marie,  you  will  not  understand  your  Alphonse.' 

c  Ah  !  Do  you  think  to  honour  me  greatly  by  offering 
me  your  name  and  your  hand  ? 9  she  asked  in  seeming 
disdain,  fixing  her  steady  eyes  upon  the  Marquis,  as  if  to 


3*6 


The  Chouans 


detect  his  every  thought.  i  And  do  you  know  whether 
you  will  love  me  in  six  months'  time  ?  And  what  would 
be  my  outlook  then  ?  .  .  .  No,  no;  a  mistress  is  the  only 
woman  who  can  be  certain  of  the  reality  of  the  feeling 
that  a  man  shows  for  her.  Duty,  and  legal  sanctions, 
and  the  world,  and  the  common  interest  of  children  are 
but  sorry  aids  to  her  power ;  for  if  it  is  lasting,  her  pride 
in  it  and  her  happiness  will  enable  her  to  endure  the 
heaviest  troubles  the  world  can  give.  To  be  your  wife, 
and  incur  the  risk  of  one  day  being  burdensome  to 
you?  Rather  than  face  that  fear,  I  choose  a  transient 
love,  but  a  love  that  is  true  while  it  lasts,  though 
it  should  lead  to  death  and  misery  in  the  end.  Yes, 
better  than  any  other,  could  I  be  a  virtuous  mother  and 
a  devoted  wife ;  but  if  such  sentiments  are  to  dwell  for 
long  in  a  woman's  heart,  a  man  must  not  marry  her  in  a 
fit  of  passion.  Besides  this,  do  I  myself  know  that  I 
shall  care  for  you  to-morrow  ?  No ;  I  will  not  bring 
trouble  upon  you.  I  am  about  to  leave  Brittany,'  she 
said,  as  she  noticed  that  he  wavered.  c  I  am  going  back 
to  Paris,  and  you  must  not  go  thither  in  search  of 
me  ' 

c  Well,  then,  if  on  the  morning  of  the  day  after 
to-morrow  you  see  smoke  rising  from  the  crags  of  St. 
Sulpice,  I  shall  be  with  you  in  the  evening.  I  will  be 
your  lover,  your  husband,  whatever  you  would  have  me 
be.    I  shall  have  dared  all  things.' 

1  Oh  !  Alphonse,'  she  cried  in  her  intoxication,  i  do 
you  love  me  so  well  that  you  will  risk  your  life  for  me 
in  this  way,  before  you  make  it  mine  ? ' 

He  made  no  answer ;  he  looked  at  her,  and  she  lowered 
her  eyes;  but  from  his  mistress's  eager  face,  he  knew 
that  her  fevered  frenzy  equalled  his  own,  and  he  held  out 
his  arms  to  her.  Carried  away  by  this  madness,  Marie 
was  about  to  sink  back  languidly  upon  Montauran's 
breast,  determined  that  the  surrender  of  herself  should  be 
an  error  that  should  bring  her  the  greatest  happiness, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  317 


since  in  this  way  she  risked  her  whole  future,  which 
would  have  been  more  certain  if  she  had  issued  victorious 
from  this  final  ordeal.  But  as  she  laid  her  head  on  her 
lover's  shoulder,  a  faint  sound  echoed  outside  the  house. 
She  tore  herself  away  from  him  as  if  she  had  been  suddenly 
aroused  from  sleep,  and  sprang  out  of  the  hovel.  This 
enabled  her  to  recover  her  self-possession  to  some  extent, 
and  to  think  over  her  situation. 

c  He  would  have  taken  me,  and  perhaps  have  laughed 
at  me  afterwards,'  she  said  to  herself.  4  Ah  !  if  I  could 
bring  myself  to  believe  that,  I  would  kill  him.  Ah  !  not 
just  yet !  9  she  added,  as  she  caught  sight  of  Beau- 
Pied,  and  made  a  sign,  which  the  soldier  understood  with 
wonderful  quickness. 

The  poor  fellow  turned  on  his  heel  at  once  and  made 
as  though  he  had  seen  nothing.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  went 
suddenly  back  into  the  hut,  with  the  first  finger  of  her 
right  hand  laid  upon  her  lips  in  a  way  that  recommended 
silence  to  the  young  chief. 

c  They  are  there  ! '  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  low 
with  horror. 

c  Who  is  there  ? 9 

c  The  Blues.' 

c  Ah  !  I  will  not  die  without  • 

c  Yes,  take  it.' 

He  clasped  her,  as  she  stood  there  cold  and  powerless, 
and  pressed  upon  her  lips  a  kiss  full  of  rapture  and  of  ghastly 
fear,  for  it  might  be  at  once  the  first  kiss  and  the  last. 
Then  together  they  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the 
door,  with  their  heads  in  such  a  position  that  they  could 
watch  everything  without  being  seen.  The  Marquis  saw 
Gudin  at  the  head  of  a  dozen  men  holding  the  foot  of 
the  Couesnon  valley  ;  then  he  turned  and  looked  along 
the  vista  of  echaliers ;  seven  soldiers  were  on  guard  over 
the  great  rotten  tree  trunk.  He  climbed  upon  the  cask 
of  cider  and  broke  a  hole  through  the  shingle  roof,  so  as 
to  spring  out  on  to  the  knoll  behind  the  house,  but  he 


The  Chouans 


quickly  drew  back  his  head  through  the  gap  he  had  just 
made,  for  Hulot,  on  the  summit,  had  cut  off  the  way  to 
Fougeres.  He  looked  for  a  moment  at  his  mistress,  who 
uttered  a  despairing  cry ;  for  she  heard  the  tramp  of 
the  three  detachments  who  had  met  at  last  about  the 
house. 

1  Go  out  first,'  he  said  ;  c  you  will  save  my  life.' 

For  her  those  words  were  sublime.  Full  of  happiness, 
she  went  and  stood  in  the  doorway,  while  the  Marquis 
cocked  his  blunderbuss.  The  Gars  calculated  the  distance 
between  the  cabin  door  and  the  echalier^  suddenly  con- 
fronted the  seven  Blues,  riddled  the  group  with  shot,  and 
made  his  way  through  their  midst.  All  three  detach- 
ments flung  themselves  upon  the  echalier  that  the  chief 
had  just  cleared,  only  to  see  him  running  across  the  field 
with  incredible  swiftness. 

c  Fire  !  fire  !  in  the  devil's  name  !  You  are  no 
Frenchmen  !    Fire,  you  wretches  ! '  thundered  Hulot. 

As  he  called  these  words  from  the  top  of  the  knoll,  his 
own  men  and  Gudin's  troop  fired  a  volley  point  blank, 
which,  luckily,  was  badly  aimed.  The  Marquis  had 
already  reached  the  echalier  at  the  other  end  of  the  nearest 
field,  and  was  just  entering  the  next,  when  he  was  all 
but  overtaken  by  Gudin,  who  had  flung  himself  after  him 
in  hot  pursuit.  When  the  Gars  heard  the  footsteps  of 
his  formidable  antagonist  not  many  yards  behind  him,  he 
redoubled  his  speed ;  but  in  spite  of  this,  both  Gudin  and  the 
Marquis  reached  the  third  echalier  almost  at  the  same  time. 
Montauran  adroitly  flung  his  blunderbuss  at  Gudin's 
head,  and  struck  the  Counter-Chouan  a  blow  that  made 
him  slacken  his  pace.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  Marie's 
agony  of  mind,  and  the  intense  interest  with  which 
Hulot  and  his  troops  watched  this  spectacle,  each  one 
unconsciously  imitating  the  gestures  of  the  two  runners 
in  a  dead  silence.  The  Gars  and  Gudin  both  reached 
the  screen  of  copse,  now  white  with  hoar  frost,  when 
the  officer  suddenly  fell  back  and  disappeared  behind  an 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow 


3*9 


apple  tree.  Some  score  of  Chouans,  who  had  not  dared 
to  fire  for  fear  of  killing  their  leader,  now  appeared,  and 
riddled  the  tree  with  balls.  All  Hulot's  little  band  set 
out  at  a  run  to  rescue  Gudin,  who,  being  without 
weapons,  fled  towards  them  from  one  apple  tree  to 
another,  choosing  the  moments  when  the  Chasseurs  du 
Roi  were  reloading,  for  his  flight.  He  was  not  long  in 
jeopardy.  The  Counter-Chouans  joined  the  Blues  ;  and, 
with  Hulot  at  their  head,  they  came  to  the  young  officer's 
assistance  just  at  the  place  where  the  Marquis  had  flung 
away  his  blunderbuss. 

As  they  came  up,  Gudin  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  foe, 
who  was  sitting  exhausted  beneath  one  of  the  trees  in  the 
little  copse ;  and  leaving  his  comrades  to  shoot  from 
behind  their  cover  at  the  Chouans  who  were  entrenched 
behind  a  hedge  along  the  side  of  the  field,  he  made  a 
circuit  round  them  and  went  in  the  direction  of  the 
Marquis  with  the  eagerness  of  a  beast  of  prey.  When 
the  Chasseurs  du  Roi  saw  his  manoeuvre  they  uttered 
fearful  yells  to  warn  their  chief  of  his  danger ;  then,  after 
firing  a  round  at  the  Counter-Chouans,  with  poacher's 
luck,  they  tried  to  hold  their  own  against  them  ;  but  the 
Counter-Chouans  boldly  climbed  the  bank  which  served 
their  enemies  as  a  rampart,  and  took  a  murderous  revenge. 
Upon  this  the  Chouans  made  for  the  road  that  ran  beside 
the  enclosure  in  which  the  skirmish  had  taken  place,  and 
made  themselves  masters  of  the  high  ground,  abandoned 
by  a  blunder  of  Hulot's.  Before  the  Blues  knew  where 
they  were,  the  Chouans  had  entrenched  themselves 
among  the  gaps  in  the  crests  of  the  rocks;  and  thus 
sheltered,  they  could  pick  off  Hulot's  men  in  safety, 
should  the  latter  show  any  disposition  to  follow  them 
thither,  and  thus  prolong  the  fight. 

Whilst  Hulot  and  a  few  of  his  soldiers  were  going 
slowly  towards  the  copse  in  search  of  Gudin,  the  men 
of  Fougeres  stayed  behind  to  strip  the  dead,  and  dispatch 
the  living  Chouans,  for  no  prisoners  were  made  on  either 


320 


The  Chouans 


side  in  this  terrible  war.  The  Marquis  being  in  safety, 
both  Chouans  and  Blues  recognised  the  strength  of  their 
respective  positions,  and  the  futility  of  continuing  the 
struggle,  so  that  neither  party  now  thought  of  anything 
but  of  beating  a  retreat. 

c  If  I  lose  this  young  man,'  Hulot  exclaimed,  as  he 
carefully  scanned  the  copse,  4 1  will  never  make  another 
friend.' 

c  Oho  ! '  said  one  of  the  lads  from  Fougeres,  c  there's  a 
bird  here  with  yellow  feathers,'  and  he  held  up  for  his 
fellow-countrymen's  inspection  a  purse  full  of  gold  pieces 
that  he  had  just  found  in  the  pocket  of  a  stout  man  in 
black  clothes. 

4  But  what  have  we  here  ? '  asked  another,  as  he  drew 
a  breviary  from  the  dead  man's  overcoat.  c  Here  be  holy 
goods  'y  this  is  a  priest ! '  he  exclaimed,  as  he  flung  the 
breviary  down. 

1  The  robber  !  He  will  make  bankrupts  of  us  ! '  said  a 
third,  who  had  only  found  two  crowns  of  six  francs  each 
in  the  pockets  of  the  Chouan  that  he  was  stripping. 

c  Yes,  but  he  has  a  famous  pair  of  shoes,'  said  a  soldier, 
who  made  as  though  he  would  help  himself  to  them. 

*  You  shall  have  them  if  they  fall  to  your  share,'  a 
Fougerais  answered,  as  he  dragged  them  off  the  feet  of 
the  dead  Chouan,  and  flung  them  down  on  a  pile  of  goods 
already  heaped  together. 

A  fourth  Counter-Chouan  took  charge  of  the  money, 
so  as  to  divide  it  when  the  soldiers  belonging  to  the  party 
should  return.  Hulot  came  back  with  the  young  officer, 
whose  last  attempt  to  come  up  with  the  Gars  had  been 
as  useless  as  it  was  dangerous,  and  found  a  score  of  his 
own  men  and  some  thirty  Counter-Chouans  standing 
round  eleven  of  their  dead  foes,  whose  bodies  had  been 
flung  into  a  furrow  below  the  hedge. 

c  Soldiers  ! '  Hulot  shouted  sternly ;  c  I  forbid  you  to 
take  any  part  of  those  rags.  Fall  in,  and  look  sharp 
about  it ! ' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  321 


It  is  all  very  well  about  the  money,  commandant,' 
said  one  of  the  men,  exhibiting  for  Hulot's  benefit  a  pair 
of  shoes  out  of  which  his  five  bare  toes  were  protruding ; 
4  but  those  shoes  would  fit  me  like  a  glove,'  he  went  on, 
pointing  the  butt  end  of  his  gun  at  the  pair  of  iron- 
bound  shoes  before  him. 

4  So  you  want  a  pair  of  English  shoes  on  your  feet ! ' 
was  Hulot's  reply. 

*  But  ever  since  the  war  began  we  have  always  shared 

the  booty  '  began  one  of  the  Fougerais  in  a  respectful 

voice.    Hulot  broke  in  upon  him  roughly  with — 

'You  fellows  can  follow  your  customs;  I  make  no 
objection.' 

4  Wait  a  bit,  Gudin,  there  is  a  purse  here,  and  it  is  not 
so  badly  off  for  louis  \  you  have  been  at  some  trouble,  so 
your  chief  will  not  object  to  your  taking  it,'  said  one  of 
his  old  comrades,  addressing  the  officer. 

Hulot,  in  annoyance,  looked  at  Gudin,  and  saw  him 
turn  pale. 

4  It  is  my  uncle's  purse  ! '  the  young  fellow  exclaimed. 
Exhausted  and  weary  as  he  was,  he  went  a  step  or  two 
towards  the  heap  of  bodies,  and  the  first  that  met  his 
eyes  happened  to  be  that  of  his  own  uncle.  He  had 
scarcely  caught  sight  of  the  florid  face,  now  furrowed 
with  bluish  lines,  of  the  gunshot  wound  and  the  stiffened 
arms,  when  a  smothered  cry  broke  from  him,  and  he  said, 
4  Let  us  march,  commandant  ! ' 

The  Blues  set  off,  Hulot  supporting  his  young  friend, 
who  leant  upon  his  arm.  4  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  '  said  the 
old  soldier.    4  Never  mind  ! ' 

4  But  he  is  dead  ! '  Gudin  replied  ;  4  he  is  dead  !  He 
was  the  only  relation  I  had  left,  and  though  he  cursed 
me,  he  was  fond  of  me.  If  the  King  had  come  back,  the 
whole  country  would  have  wanted  my  head,  but  the  old 
fellow's  cassock  would  have  screened  me.' 

4  What  a  fool ! '  remarked  the  National  Guards,  who 
stayed  behind  to  divide  the  booty ;  4  the  old  boy  was  well 

x 


322 


The  Chouans 


off,  and  as  things  fell  out,  he  had  not  time  to  make  a 
will  to  disinherit  his  nephew.' 

When  the  plunder  had  been  divided,  the  Counter- 
Chouans  started  after  the  little  battalion  of  Blues,  and 
followed  after  them  at  a  distance. 

As  the  day  wore  away,  there  was  a  dreadful  sense  of 
uneasiness  in  Galope-Chopine's  hovel,  where  life  had 
hitherto  been  so  simple  and  so  free  from  anxiety. 
Barbette  and  her  little  lad  went  home  at  the  hour  when 
the  family  usually  took  their  evening  meal ;  the  one  bore 
a  heavy  burden  of  furze,  and  the  other  a  bundle  of  fodder 
for  the  cattle.  Mother  and  son  entered  the  hut,  and 
looked  round  in  vain  for  Galope-Chopine.  Never  had 
their  wretched  room  looked  so  large  to  them,  nor  seemed 
so  empty.  The  fireless  hearth,  the  darkness  and  the 
stillness  all  foreboded  calamity  of  some  kind. 

At  nightfall  Barbette  hastened  to  light  a  bright  fire  and 
two  oribus — for  so  they  call  their  resin  candles  in  the 
country  that  lies  between  the  shores  of  Armorica  and  the 
district  of  the  Upper  Loire,  and  the  word  is  in  use  even 
on  this  side  of  Amboise  in  the  Vendomois. 

Barbette  set  about  her  preparations  with  the  delibera- 
tion that  characterises  all  actions  performed  under  the 
influence  of  deep  feeling.  She  listened  to  the  slightest 
sound  •>  the  wailing  of  the  gusts  of  wind  often  deceived 
her,  and  brought  her  to  the  door  of  her  wretched  hovel, 
only  that  she  might  go  sadly  back  again.  She  rinsed  a 
couple  of  pitchers,  filled  them  with  cider,  and  set  them 
on  the  long  table  of  walnut  wood.  Again  and  again  she 
looked  at  her  little  boy,  who  was  watching  the  baking  of 
the  buckwheat  cakes,  but  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
speak  a  word  to  him.  Once  the  little  lad  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  nails  in  the  wall  from  which  his  father 
was  wont  to  hang  his  duck  gun,  and  Barbette  shuddered 
when  she  noticed,  as  he  had  also  noticed,  that  the  space 
was  vacant.  The  silence  was  unbroken  save  for  the 
lowing  of  the  cows,  and  the  sound  at  regular  intervals  of 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  323 


the  drippings  from  the  cider  barrel.  The  poor  woman 
sighed  as  she  poured  out  into  three  brown  earthenware 
porringers  a  sort  of  soup,  made  of  milk,  cakes  cut  into 
dice,  and  cooked  chestnuts. 

They  fought  in  the  field  that  belongs  to  La  Beraudiere,' 
said  the  little  boy. 

4  Go  and  have  a  look  there,'  his  mother  answered. 

The  little  fellow  ran  off,  and  made  out  the  faces  of  the 
heap  of  dead  by  the  moonlight ;  his  father  was  not  among 
them,  and  he  came  back  whistling  joyfully,  for  he  had 
picked  up  a  few  coins  that  the  victors  had  overlooked  and 
trampled  into  the  mud.  He  found  his  mother  busy 
spinning  hemp,  seated  upon  a  stool  by  the  fireside.  He 
shook  his  head  at  the  sight  of  Barbette,  who  did  not  dare 
to  believe  in  any  good  news.  It  was  ten  o'clock  by  St. 
Leonard's  Church,  and  the  little  fellow  went  to  bed,  after 
lisping  his  prayer  to  the  Holy  Virgin  of  Auray.  At  day- 
break Barbette,  who  had  not  slept  all  night,  gave  a  cry  of 
joy  as  she  heard  a  sound  in  the  distance  that  she  recog- 
nised ;  it  was  Galope-Chopine's  step  and  his  heavy 
iron-bound  shoes,  and  he  himself  soon  showed  his  sullen 
countenance. 

4  Thanks  to  St.  Labre,  to  whom  I  have  promised  a  fine 
wax-candle,  the  Gars  is  saved  !  Do  not  forget  that  we 
now  owe  three  candles  to  the  saint.' 

With  that  Galope-Chopine  seized  upon  a  pitcher  and 
gulped  down  the  contents  without  taking  a  breath. 
When  his  wife  had  put  the  soup  before  him,  and  had 
helped  him  to  rid  himself  of  his  duck-gun,  he  seated 
himself  on  the  bench  of  walnut  wood  and  said,  as  he 
drew  near  the  fire,  c  How  could  the  Blues  and  Counter- 
Chouans  have  come  here  ?  There  was  a  fight  going  on 
at  Florigny.  What  devil  can  have  told  them  that  the 
Gars  was  in  our  house  ?  Nobody  knew  about  it  except 
us,  and  the  Gars,  and  that  pretty  lass  of  his.' 

The  woman  turned  pale. 

'The  Counter-Chouans  made  me  believe  that  they 


The  Chouans 


were  the  gars  from  Saint  Georges,'  she  made  answer, 
trembling,  4  and  I  myself  told  them  where  the  Gars 
was.' 

Now  it  was  Galope-Chopine's  turn  to  grow  pale  \  he 
set  his  porringer  down  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

c  I  sent  our  little  chap  to  warn  you,'  the  terrified 
Barbette  went  on  ;  'he  did  not  find  you.' 

The  Chouan  rose  to  his  feet  and  dealt  his  wife 
such  a  violent  blow,  that  she  fell  back  half  dead  upon 
the  bed. 

6  Accursed  garcej  he  said,  *  you  have  killed  me  ! ' 

Then  terror  seized  him,  and  he  took  his  wife  in  his 
arms.  c  Barbette  ! '  he  cried,  c  Barbette  !  .  .  .  Holy 
Virgin  !    My  hand  was  too  heavy  ! ' 

4  Do  you  think  that  Marche-a-Terre  will  get  to  know 
about  it  ? '  she  said,  when  she  opened  her  eyes  again. 

c  The  Gars  has  given  orders  for  an  inquiry  to  be  made, 
so  as  to  know  where  the  treachery  came  from,'  answered 
the  Chouan. 

1  Did  he  tell  Marche-a-Terre  ? ' 

*  Pille-Miche  and  Marche-a-Terre  were  at  Florigny.' 

Barbette  breathed  more  freely. 

4  If  they  touch  a  single  hair  of  your  head,'  she  said,  ( 1 
will  rinse  their  glasses  with  vinegar.' 

c  Ah  !  I  have  no  appetite  now  ! '  Galope-Chopine 
exclaimed  dejectedly. 

His  wife  set  another  full  pitcher  before  him,  but  he  gave 
no  heed  to  it.  Two  great  tears  left  their  traces  on 
Barbette's  cheeks,  and  moistened  the  wrinkles  on  her 
withered  face. 

c  Listen,  wife.  To-morrow  morning  you  must  make  a 
heap  of  faggots  on  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice  to  the  right  of 
St.  Leonard,  and  set  fire  to  them.  That  is  the  signal 
agreed  upon  between  the  Gars  and  the  old  recteur  of 
Saint  Georges,  who  will  come  and  say  a  mass  for  him.' 

c  Is  he  going  to  Fougeres  ? ' 

c  Yes.    He  is  going  to  see  his  pretty  lass,  and  on 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow 


that  account  I  shall  have  running  about  to  do  to-day.  I 
am  pretty  sure  that  he  means  to  marry  her  and  to  take 
her  away  with  him,  for  he  told  me  to  hire  horses  and  to 
have  them  ready  all  along  the  Saint  Malo  Road.  There- 
upon Galope-Chopine,  being  tired  out,  went  to  bed  for 
a  few  hours,  and  afterwards  went  about  his  errands. 

He  came  in  again  the  next  morning,  having  faithfully 
carried  out  the  Marquis's  instructions ;  and  when  he  learned 
that  Marche-a-Terre  and  Pille-Miche  had  not  put  in  an 
appearance,  he  dispelled  his  wife's  fears,  so  that  she  set 
out  for  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice  with  an  almost  easy  mind. 
On  the  previous  evening  she  had  made  a  pile  of  faggots, 
now  white  with  rime,  upon  the  knoll  that  faced  the 
suburb  of  St.  Leonard.  She  held  her  child  by  the  hand, 
and  the  little  fellow  carried  some  glowing  ashes  in  a 
broken  sabot. 

His  wife  and  son  had  hardly  disappeared  behind  the 
shed,  when  Galope-Chopine  heard  two  men  jump  over 
the  last  of  the  series  of  echaliers.  By  degrees  he  made 
out  two  angular  figures,  looking  like  vague  shadows  in  a 
tolerably  thick  fog. 

4  There  are  Pille-Miche  and  Marche-a-Terre,'  he  said 
within  himself,  and  trembled  as  the  two  Chouans  showed 
their  dark  countenances  in  the  little  yard.  Beneath  their 
huge  battered  hats  they  looked  not  unlike  the  foreground 
figures  that  engravers  put  into  landscapes. 

4  Good-day,  Galope-Chopine,'  said  Marche-a-Terre 
soberly. 

4  Good-day,  M.  Marche-a-Terre,'  Barbette's  husband 
respectfully  answered.  4  Will  you  come  inside  and  empty 
a  pitcher  or  two  ?  I  have  some  cold  cakes  and  fresh 
butter  here.' 

4  That  is  not  to  be  refused,  cousin,'  said  Pille-Miche, 
and  the  two  Chouans  came  in.  There  was  nothing  to 
alarm  Galope-Chopine  in  this  beginning  ;  he  hastened  to 
his  great  cider  butt  and  filled  three  pitchers,  while 
Marche-a-Terre   and    Pille-Miche,   seated    upon  the 


326 


The  Chouans 


polished  bench  on  either  side  of  the  long  table,  cut  slices 
of  the  cakes  for  themselves,  and  spread  them  with  the 
rich  yellow  butter  that  exuded  little  beads  of  milk 
under  the  pressure  of  the  knife.  Galope-Chopine  set  the 
foaming  pitchers  full  of  cider  before  his  visitors,  and  the 
three  Chouans  fell  to ;  but  from  time  to  time  the  master 
of  the  house  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  Marche-a-Terre  as 
he  eagerly  satisfied  his  thirst. 

4  Pass  me  your  snuff-box,'  Marche-a-Terre  remarked  to 
Pille-Miche. 

The  Breton  gave  it  a  few  vigorous  shakes,  till  several 
pinches  lay  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  then  he  snuffed  the 
powdered  tobacco  like  a  man  who  wished  to  fortify  him- 
self for  serious  business. 

c  It  is  cold,'  Pille-Miche  remarked,  and  rose  to  shut  the 
upper  part  of  the  door. 

The  dim  foggy  daylight  now  only  entered  the  room 
through  the  little  window,  so  that  only  the  table  and  the 
two  benches  were  faintly  visible,  but  the  red  glow  of  the 
firelight  filled  the  place.  Galope-Chopine  had  just 
refilled  the  pitchers  and  had  set  them  before  his  guests  ; 
but  they  declined  to  drink,  flung  their  large  hats  aside, 
and  suddenly  assumed  a  solemn  expression.  This  gesture 
and  the  look  by  which  they  took  counsel  of  each  other 
sent  a  shudder  through  Galope-Chopine,  who  seemed  to 
read  thoughts  of  bloodshed  lurking  beneath  those  red 
woollen  bonnets. 

c  Bring  us  your  hatchet,'  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

cBut  what  do  you  want  with  it,  M.  Marche-a- 
Terre  ? ' 

c  Come,  cousin,  you  know  quite  well  that  you  are 
doomed,'  said  Pille-Miche,  putting  away  the  snuff-box 
that  Marche-a-Terre  had  returned  to  him. 

Both  of  the  Chouans  got  up  together  and  seized  their 
carbines. 

c  M.  Marche-a-Terre,  I  did  not  say  one  word  about  the 
Gars.' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  327 


*Get  your  hatchet,  I  tell  you/  was  the  Chouan's 
answer. 

The  wretched  Galope-Chopine  stumbled  over  his  child's 
rough  bedstead,  and  three  five-franc  pieces  fell  out  on  to 
the  floor.    Pille-Miche  picked  them  up. 

4  Oho  !  the  Blues  have  given  you  new  coin  !  '  cried 
Marche-a-Terre. 

4  I  have  not  said  one  word ;  that  is  as  true  as  that  St. 
Labre's  image  stands  there,'  Galope-Chopine  replied. 
4  Barbette  mistook  the  Counter-Chouans  for  the  gars  from 
Saint-Georges  ->  that  was  all.' 

4  Why  do  you  prate  about  your  business  to  your  wife  ? ' 
Marche-a-Terre  answered  roughly. 

4  And  besides,  we  don't  ask  you  for  excuses,  cousin  ;  we 
want  your  hatchet.    You  are  doomed.' 

At  a  sign  from  his  comrade,  Pille-Miche  helped  him  to 
seize  the  victim.  Galope-Chopine's  courage  broke  down 
when  he  found  himself  in  the  hands  of  the  Chouans. 
He  fell  on  his  knees  and  held  up  his  despairing  hands  to 
his  executioners. 

4  Good  friends,'  he  cried,  c  and  you,  cousin,  what  will 
become  of  my  little  lad  ?  ' 

4 1  will  look  after  him,'  said  Marche-a-Terre. 

4  Dear  comrades,'  Galope-Chopine  began  again  with 
blanched  cheeks,  4  I  am  not  ready  for  death.  Will  you 
send  me  out  of  the  world  without  shrift  ?  You  have  the 
right  to  take  my  life,  but  you  have  no  right  to  rob  me  of 
eternal  bliss.' 

4  That  is  true,'  said  Marche-a-Terre,  as  he  looked  at 
Pille-Miche. 

The  two  Chouans  remained  in  this  most  awkward 
predicament  for  a  moment  or  two,  in  utter  inability  to 
resolve  the  case  of  conscience.  Galope-Chopine,  mean- 
while, listened  to  the  slightest  noise  made  by  the  wind,  as 
if  he  had  not  yet  lost  all  hope.  He  looked  mechanically 
at  the  cider  butt ;  the  regular  sound  of  the  dripping 
leakage  made  him  heave  a  melancholy  sigh.  Suddenly 


The  Chouans 


Pille-Miche  clutched  the  sufferer's  arm,  drew  him  into  a 
corner,  and  said  to  him — 

6  Confess  your  sins  to  me.  I  will  repeat  them  to  a 
priest  of  the  true  Church,  and  he  will  give  me  absolution  ; 
if  there  is  any  penance,  I  will  do  it  for  you.' 

Galope-Chopine  obtained  some  respite  by  the  way  in 
which  he  made  his  confession  ;  but  in  spite  of  the  number 
of  his  sins  and  the  full  account  which  he  gave  of  them, 
he  came  at  last  to  the  end  of  the  list. 

'  Alas  ! '  he  said,  when  he  had  finished,  c  since  I  am 
speaking  to  you,  my  cousin,  as  to  a  confessor,  I  affirm  to 
you,  by  the  holy  name  of  God,  that  I  have  nothing  to 
reproach  myself  with,  unless  it  is  that  I  have  now  and  then 
buttered  my  bread  a  little  too  well ;  and  I  call  St.  Labre 
over  there  above  the  chimney-piece  to  bear  witness,  that 
I  have  not  said  a  word  about  the  Gars.  No,  my  friends, 
I  did  not  betray  him.' 

c  All  right,  get  up,  cousin  ;  you  will  explain  all  that  to 
the  hon  Dieu  when  the  time  comes.' 

*  Let  me  say  one  little  word  of  good-bye  to  Barbe  ' 

c  Come,  now,'  said  Marche-a-Terre,  6  if  you  want  us 
not  to  think  more  ill  of  you  than  we  can  help,  behave 
yourself  like  a  Breton,  and  die  decently.' 

The  two  Chouans  seized  on  Galope-Chopine  again, 
and  stretched  him  on  the  bench,  where  he  lay  making  no 
sign  of  resistance  save  convulsive  movements  prompted 
by  physical  fear ;  there  was  a  heavy  thud  of  the  hatchet, 
and  a  sudden  end  of  his  smothered  cries  ;  his  head  had 
been  struck  off" at  a  blow.  Marche-a-Terre  took  it  up  by 
a  lock  of  hair,  and  went  out  of  the  hut.  He  looked  about 
him  and  found  a  great  nail  in  the  doorway,  about  which 
he  twisted  the  strand  of  hair,  and  so  suspended  the  bloody 
head,  without  even  closing  the  eyes.  The  two  Chouans 
washed  their  hands  leisurely  in  a  great  earthen  pan,  full 
of  water,  put  on  their  hats,  took  up  their  carbines,  and 
sprang  over  the  echalier^  whistling  the  tune  of  the  ballad 
of  The  Captain.    At  the  end  of  the  field  Pille-Miche 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  329 


began  in  a  hoarse  voice  to  sing  some  odd  stanzas  of  the 
simple  poem — 

The  first  town  that  they  came  until 

Her  lover  has  lighted  down, 
And  he  has  clad  that  bonny  lass 

In  a  milk-white  satin  gown  : 

The  next  town  that  they  came  until 

He  has  lighted,  her  lover  bold, 
And  he  has  clad  her  in  white  silver 

And  in  the  ruddy  gold  : 

But  when  she  came  to  his  regiment, 

So  fair  a  maid  to  greet, 
They  have  taken  webs  of  the  silken  cloth 

To  spread  them  beneath  her  feet. 

As  the  Chouans  went  further  and  further  away,  the 
tune  grew  less  distinct ;  but  there  was  such  a  deep  silence 
over  the  country  side  that  a  note  here  and  there  reached 
Barbette  as  she  returned  to  the  cabin,  holding  her  little 
boy  by  the  hand.  No  peasant  woman  can  hear  this  song 
with  indifference,  so  popular  is  it  in  the  west  of  France. 
Barbette  therefore  unconsciously  took  up  the  earlier 
verses  of  the  ballad — 

We  must  away,  bonny  lassie, 

For  we  have  far  to  ride ; 
We  must  away  to  the  wars,  lassie, 

I  may  no  longer  bide. 

Spare  thy  trouble,  oh,  bold  captain ! 

Save  that  treason  give  her  thee, 
She  shall  not  be  thine  in  any  land, 

Nor  yet  upon  the  sea  ! 

Her  father  has  stripped  her  of  her  weed 

And  flung  her  into  the  wave, 
But  the  captain  has  swum  out  cannily 

His  lady-love  to  save. 

We  must  away,  bonny  lassie,  etc. 

Barbette  came  into  her  yard  just  as  she  had  reached 
the  place  in  the  ballad  at  which  Pille-Miche  had  taken  it 
up  ;  her  tongue  was  suddenly  petrified,  she  stood  motion- 


330 


The  Chouans 


less,  and  a  loud  cry,  which  she  instantly  repressed,  came 
from  her  open  mouth. 

c  Mother,  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ? '  asked  the  little 
one. 

'You  must  go  alone,'  cried  Barbette  in  a  choking 
voice,  as  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  his,  and  pushed 
him  from  her  with  indescribable  roughness.  c  You  have 
a  father  and  mother  no  longer  ! ' 

The  child  rubbed  his  shoulder,  but  he  caught  sight  of 
the  head  as  he  cried,  and,  though  his  pink  and  white  face 
was  still  puckered  by  the  nervous  twitch  that  tears  give 
to  the  features,  he  grew  silent.  He  stared  wide-eyed  for 
a  long  while  at  his  father's  head,  with  a  stolid  expression 
that  revealed  no  emotion  whatever ;  his  face,  brutalised 
by  ignorance,  at  last  came  to  wear  a  look  of  savage 
curiosity.  At  last  Barbette  suddenly  took  her  child's 
hand  in  a  powerful  grip,  and  hurried  him  into  the  house. 
One  of  Galope-Chopine's  shoes  had  fallen  off  when  Pille- 
Miche  and  Marche-a-Terre  had  stretched  him  on  the 
bench  ;  it  had  lain  beneath  his  neck,  and  was  filled  with 
blood.  This  was  the  first  thing  that  met  the  widow's 
eyes. 

'Take  off  your  sabot,'  the  mother  said  to  her  son, 
c  and  put  your  foot  in  that.  Good  !  Always  remember 
your  father's  shoe,'  she  cried  in  piteous  tones.  1  Never 
set  a  shoe  on  your  foot  without  remembering  how  this 
one  was  full  of  blood  that  the  Chuins  spilt,  and  kill  the 
Churns  ! ' 

She  shook  her  head  so  violently  as  she  spoke,  that  the 
long  locks  of  her  black  hair  fell  about  her  throat  and  gave 
her  face  a  sinister  look. 

c  I  call  St.  Labre  to  witness,'  she  went  on,  c  that  I 
dedicate  you  to  the  Blues.  You  shall  be  a  soldier,  so  that 
you  may  avenge  your  father.  Kill  them  !  Kill  the 
Chums,  and  do  as  I  do.  Ah  !  they  have  taken  my 
husband's  head,  and  I  will  give  the  head  of  the  Gars  to 
the  Blues.' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  331 

She  sprang  to  the  bed  at  a  bound,  drew  a  little  bag  or 
money  from  its  hiding-place,  took  her  astonished  child 
by  the  hand,  and  dragged  him  forcibly  with  her,  not  even 
leaving  him  time  to  put  on  his  sabot  again.  Then  they 
both  set  out  for  Fougeres  at  a  quick  pace,  neither  of 
them  giving  a  look  behind  them  at  the  cottage  they 
were  forsaking.  When  they  reached  the  summit  of  the 
crags  of  St.  Sulpice,  Barbette  stirred  up  her  lire  of  faggots, 
and  her  little  son  helped  her  to  pile  on  bushes  of  green 
broom  with  the  rime  upon  them,  so  as  to  increase  the 
volume  of  smoke. 

*  That  will  outlast  your  father's  life,  and  mine,  and  the 
Gars's  too  ! '  said  Barbette  savagely,  as  she  pointed  out 
the  fire  to  her  child. 

While  Galope-Chopine's  widow  and  son,  with  his  foot 
dyed  in  blood,  were  watching  the  eddying  smoke-wreaths 
with  brooding  looks  of  vengeance  and  curiosity,  Mile,  de 
VerneuiPs  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  crag.  She  tried,  in 
vain,  to  discern  the  signal  there  of  which  the  Marquis 
had  spoken.  The  fog  had  grown  gradually  denser,  and 
the  whole  district  was  enveloped  in  a  grey  veil  that  hid 
the  outlines  of  the  landscape,  even  at  a  little  distance 
from  the  town.  She  looked  with  fond  anxiety  at  the 
crags  and  the  castle,  and  at  the  buildings  that  loomed 
through  the  heavy  air  like  darker  masses  of  the  fog  itself. 
A  few  trees  round  about  her  window  stood  out  against 
the  bluish  background,  like  branching  corals  dimly  seen 
in  the  depths  of  a  calm  sea.  The  sun  had  given  to  the 
sky  the  yellowish  hues  of  tarnished  silver,  its  rays  shed  a 
vague  red  colour  over  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees, 
where  a  few  last  withered  leaves  were  hanging  yet.  But 
Marie  felt  an  agitation  of  soul  too  delightful  to  allow  her 
to  draw  dark  auguries  from  this  scene ;  it  was  too  much 
out  of  harmony  with  the  happiness  to  come,  of  which,  in 
thought,  she  took  her  fill. 

Her  ideas  had  altered  strangely  in  the  past  two  days. 
Slowly  the  fierceness  and  uncontrolled  outbursts  of  her 


The  Chouans 


passions  had  been  subdued  by  the  influence  of  the  even 
warmth  that  true  love  brings  into  a  life.  The  certain 
knowledge  that  she  was  beloved,  for  which  she  had 
sought  through  so  many  perils,  had  awakened  in  her  a 
desire  to  return  within  the  limits  in  which  society  sanc- 
tions happiness — limits  which  despair  alone  had  led  her 
to  overstep.  A  love  that  only  lasts  for  the  space  of  a 
moment  seemed  to  her  to  betoken  weakness  of  soul.  She 
had  a  sudden  vision  of  herself,  withdrawn  from  the  depths 
wherein  misfortune  had  plunged  her,  and  restored  again 
to  the  high  position  in  which  she  had  been  placed  by  her 
father.  Her  vanity  awoke,  after  being  repressed  by  the 
cruel  vicissitudes  of  a  passion  that  had  met  at  times  with 
happiness  and  again  at  times  with  scorn.  She  saw  all 
the  advantages  conferred  by  an  exalted  rank.  When 
she  was  married  to  Montauran,  and  came  into  the 
world  (so  to  speak)  as  a  marquise,  would  she  not  live  and 
act  in  the  sphere  to  which  she  naturally  belonged  ?  She 
could  appreciate  better  than  other  women  the  greatness 
of  the  feelings  and  thoughts  that  underlie  family  life  ; 
for  she  had  known  the  chances  of  a  life  of  continual 
adventure.  The  responsibilities  and  cares  of  marriage 
and  motherhood  would  for  her  be  a  rest  rather  than  a 
burden.  She  looked  forward  longingly,  through  this  last 
storm,  to  a  quiet  and  virtuous  life,  as  a  woman  tired  of 
virtuous  conduct  might  give  a  covetous  glance  at  an 
illicit  passion.  Virtue  for  her  possessed  a  new  attraction. 
She  turned  away  from  the  window,  for  she  could  not  see 
the  fire  on  the  crags  of  St.  Sulpice. 

4  Perhaps  I  have  coquetted  overmuch  with  him  ?  But 
was  it  not  in  this  way  that  I  learned  how  well  I  was 
beloved  ? — Francine,  it  is  a  dream  no  longer  !  To-night 
I  shall  be  the  Marquise  de  Montauran  !  What  can  I 
have  done  to  deserve  such  entire  happiness  ?  Oh  !  I 
love  him — and  love  alone  can  requite  love.  And  yet,  it 
is  God's  purpose  doubtless  to  reward  me,  because  I  have 
kept  so  much  love  in  my  heart  through  so  many  miseries ; 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  333 

and  to  make  me  forget  all  that  I  have  suffered,  for  I  have 
suffered  greatly,  as  you  know,  dear  child.' 

4  You,  Marie !  You  to-night  the  Marquise  de 
Montauran  ?  Ah  !  until  it  is  over  and  done,  I  shall 
think  that  I  am  dreaming.  Who  taught  him  to  know 
your  worth  ? ' 

c  But  he  has  not  only  a  handsome  face,  dear  child ;  he 
has  a  soul  too  !  If  you  had  seen  him  in  danger,  as  I  did ! 
Ah !  he  is  so  brave,  he  needs  must  know  how  to  love 
well!' 

c  If  you  love  him  so  much,  why  do  you  allow  him  to 
come  to  Fougeres  ? ' 

'Had  we  time  to  say  a  word  to  each  other  before  we 
were  surprised  ?    Besides  that,  is  it  not  one  more  proof 
of  his  love  ?    Can  one  ever  have  enough  of  them  ?  .-W 
Do  my  hair.    He  will  not  be  here  yet.' 

But  stormy  thoughts  still  mingled  themselves  with  the 
anxieties  of  coquetry,  and  again  and  again  she  spoiled  the 
carefully  arranged  effects,  as  her  hair  was  dressed,  by 
movements  that  seemed  to  be  electric.  As  she  shook  out 
a  curl  into  waves,  or  smoothed  the  glossy  plaits,  a  trace 
of  mistrust  made  her  ask  herself  whether  the  Marquis  was 
playing  her  false.  And  then  came  the  thought  that  such 
baseness  would  be  unfathomable,  for  in  coming  to  seek 
her  at  Fougeres  he  had  boldly  laid  himself  open  to  swift 
and  condign  punishment.  She  studied  keenly  in  the  mirror 
the  effects  of  a  side  glance,  of  a  smile,  of  a  slight  con- 
traction of  her  brows,  of  a  gesture  of  anger,  scorn, 
or  love ;  seeking  in  this  way  for  a  woman's  wile  that  should 
probe  the  young  chief's  heart,  even  at  the  last  moment. 

4  You  are  right,  Francine,'  said  she.  c  Like  you,  I  wish 
that  the  marriage  was  over.  This  is  the  last  of  my  over- 
clouded days — it  is  big  with  my  death  or  our  happiness. 
This  fog  is  detestable,'  she  added,  looking  afresh  at  the 
summits  of  St.  Sulpice  that  were  still  hidden  from  her. 

With  her  own  hands  she  arranged  the  curtains  of  silk 
and  muslin  that  draped  the  window,  taking  a  pleasure  in 


334 


The  Chouans 


shutting  out  the  daylight,  and  so  producing  a  soft  gloom 
in  the  chamber. 

4  Take  away  those  knick-knacks  that  cover  the  chimney- 
piece,  Francine,'  she  said ;  4  leave  nothing  there  but  the 
clock  and  the  two  Dresden  vases.  I  myself  will  put 
into  them  those  winter  flowers  that  Corentin  found  for 
me.  Take  all  the  chairs  out  of  the  room  ;  I  only  care  to 
keep  the  armchair  and  the  sofa;  and  when  you  have  done 
these  things,  child,  brush  the  carpet,  to  make  the  colours 
look  brighter,  and  put  candles  in  the  sconces  by  the  fire- 
side, and  in  the  candlesticks.' 

Marie  looked  long  and  closely  at  the  ancient  tapestry 
Jhat  covered  the  walls  of  the  room.  Her  innate  taste 
discovered  among  the  vivid  colours  of  the  warp  the  hues 
which  could  serve  to  bring  this  decoration  of  a  bygone 
day  into  harmony  with  the  furniture  and  accessories  of 
the  boudoir — hues  which  either  repeated  their  colours  or 
made  a  charming  contrast  with  them.  The  same  idea 
pervaded  her  arrangement  of  the  flowers  with  which  she 
filled  the  fantastic  vases  about  the  room.  The  sofa  was 
drawn  up  to  the  fire.  Upon  two  gilded  tables  on  either 
side  of  the  bed,  which  stood  near  the  wall  opposite  to  the 
chimney-piece,  she  set  great  Dresden  vases  filled  with 
leafage  and  sweet-scented  flowers.  More  than  once  she 
trembled  as  she  arranged  the  voluminous  folds  of  green 
silk  brocade  about  the  bed,  and  followed  with  her  eyes 
the  curving  lines  of  the  flowered  pattern  on  the  coverlet 
which  she  laid  over  it.  About  such  preparations  there  is 
an  indefinable  secret  happiness,  a  delightful  stimulation 
that  causes  a  woman  to  forget  all  her  doubts  in  the 
pleasure  of  her  task,  as  Mile,  de  Verneuil  did  at  this 
moment.  Is  there  not  a  kind  of  religious  sentiment 
about  the  innumerable  pains  thus  undertaken  to  please  a 
beloved  being,  who  is  not  there  to  behold  them  and  to 
recompense  them ;  but  who  must,  later  on,  feel  the  signi- 
ficance of  these  charming  preparations,  and  repay  them 
with  an  approving  smile  ?    In  moments  like  these,  women 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  335 


give  themselves  up  to  love  in  advance,  so  to  speak. 
There  is  not  one  who  does  not  say  to  herself,  as  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  said  in  her  thought,  c  I  shall  be  very  happy 
to-night.'  The  most  innocent  among  them  at  such  times 
sets  this  sweet  hope  in  the  least  folds  of  the  silk  or  muslin, 
and  the  harmony  that  she  establishes  about  her  steeps  the 
whole  of  her  surroundings  in  an  atmosphere  of  love.  All 
things  in  this  delicious  world  of  her  creation  become 
living  beings  and  onlookers ;  she  already  makes  them 
accomplices  in  her  happiness  to  come.  At  each  move- 
ment and  at  each  thought,  she  grows  bold  to  rob  the 
future.  Soon  her  hopes  and  expectations  cease,  and  she 
reproaches  the  silence.  She  must  needs  take  the  slightest 
sound  for  a  presage,  till  doubt,  at  last,  sets  his  talons  in 
her  heart,  and  she  feels  the  torture  of  a  burning  thought 
that  surges  within  her,  and  that  brings  something  like  a 
physical  strain  to  bear  upon  her.  Without  the  sustaining 
hope  of  joy,  she  could  never  bear  those  alternations  of 
exultation  and  of  anguish.  Time  after  time  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  had  drawn  the  curtains  aside,  hoping  to  see  a 
column  of  smoke  rising  above  the  rocks ;  but  the  fog 
appeared  to  grow  greyer  every  moment,  until  at  last  its 
grisly  hues  affected  her  imagination,  and  seemed  to  be 
full  of  evil  augury.  In  a  moment  of  impatience  she  let 
the  curtain  fall,  and  vowed  to  herself  that  she  would  not 
raise  it  again.  She  looked  discontentedly  round  the  room 
for  which  she  had  found  a  soul  and  a  language,  asked  her- 
self whether  her  preparations  had  all  been  made  in  vain, 
and  fell  to  pondering  over  them,  at  the  thought. 

She  drew  Francine  into  the  adjoining  dressing-closet, 
in  which  there  was  a  round  casement  looking  out 
upon  the  dimly  visible  corner  of  the  cliffs  where  the 
fortifications  of  the  town  joined  the  rocks  of  the 
promenade. 

*  Little  one,'  she  said,  c  put  this  in  order  for  me,  and  let 
everything  be  fresh  and  neat !  You  may  leave  the  salon 
in  disorder,  if  you  will,'  she  added,  with  one  of  the  smiles 


336  The  Chouans 

that  women  keep  for  those  who  know  them  best,  with  a  I 
subtle  delicacy  in  it  that  men  can  never  understand. 

4  Ah  !  how  lovely  you  look ! '  cried  the  little  Breton  maid,  j 
4  Eh !  fools  that  we  all  are,  is  not  our  lover  our  fairest 
ornament  ? ' 

Francine  left  her  stretched  languidly  on  the  sofa.  As 
she  went  out  slowly  step  by  step,  she  began  to  see  that  \ 
whether  her  mistress  was  beloved  or  no,  she  would  never 
betray  Montauran. 

4  Are  you  sure  about  this  yarn  of  yours,  old  woman  ?  f  ! 
said  Hulot  to  Barbette,  who  had  recognised  him  as  she 
came  into  Fougeres. 

4  Have  you  eyes  in  your  head  ?  There  !  look  over 
there  at  the  rocks  of  St.  Sulpice,  master,  to  the  right  of 
St.  Leonard  ! ' 

Corentin  scanned  the  ridge  in  the  direction  indicated 
by  Barbette's  finger ;  the  fog  began  to  clear  off  a  little, 
so  that  he  could  distinctly  see  the  column  of  pale  smoke 
of  which  Galope-Chopine's  widow  had  spoken. 

4  But  when  is  he  coming  ?    Eh,  old  woman  ?  This 
evening,  or  to-night  ? ' 

4 1  know  nothing  about  it,  master,'  Barbette  answered. 

4  Why  do  you  betray  your  own  side  ? '  asked  Hulot 
sharply,  when  he  had  drawn  the  peasant  woman  a  few 
paces  away  from  Corentin. 

4  Ah !  my  lord  general,  look  at  my  lad's  foot !  See,  it  is 
dipped  in  my  husband's  blood !  The  Chuins  butchered  him 
like  a  calf,  begging  your  pardon,  to  punish  him  for  those 
three  words  that  you  got  out  of  me  when  I  was  at  work  the 
day  before  yesterday.  Take  my  gars,  since  you  have  made 
him  fatherless  and  motherless,  but  make  a  thorough  Blue 
of  him,  master,  so  that  he  may  kill  many  Chuins  !  Look, 
here  are  two  hundred  crowns.  Take  charge  of  them  for 
him.  With  care,  they  ought  to  last  him  a  long  time, 
for  it  took  his  father  twelve  years  to  get  them 
together.' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  337 


Hulot  stared  in  amazement  at  the  peasant  woman. 
Her  wrinkled  face  was  white,  and  her  eyes  were  tearless. 

c  But  what  will  become  of  you  yourself,  mother  ?  It 
would  be  better  if  you  took  charge  of  the  money  yourself.' 

She  shook  her  head  sadly.  c  I  need  nothing  more  now. 
You  might  clap  me  into  the  dungeons  below  Melusina's 
tower  there '  (and  she  pointed  to  one  of  the  towers  of  the 
castle),  and  the  Chuins  would  find  means  to  get  at  me 
and  kill  me  there  ! 9 

She  clasped  her  little  lad  in  her  arms,  and  her  brow 
was  dark  with  pain  as  she  looked  at  him ;  two  tears  fell  from 
her  eyes,  and  with  one  more  look  at  him  she  vanished. 

c  Commandant,'  said  Corentin,  c  here  is  an  opportunity, 
and  if  we  mean  to  profit  by  it,  we  shall  require  two  hard 
heads  rather  than  one.  We  know  everything,  and  yet 
we  know  nothing.  If  we  were  to  encompass  Mile,  de 
Verneuil's  house  at  once,  we  should  set  her  against  us, 
and  you  and  I,  and  your  Counter-Chouans,  and  both 
your  battalions  all  put  together,  would  be  no  match  for 
that  girl,  if  she  has  taken  it  into  her  head  to  save  her 
ci-devant.  The  fellow  is  a  courtier,  and  consequently  he 
is  crafty  ;  he  is  a  young  man  moreover,  and  mettlesome. 
We  could  never  get  possession  of  him  as  he  enters 
Fougeres  ;  he  may  possibly  be  in  Fougeres  already.  And 
as  for  making  domiciliary  visits,  the  thing  would  be 
absurd  !  We  should  not  take  anything  by  it ;  it  would 
give  the  alarm,  and  it  would  plague  the  townspeople.' 

4 1  shall  order  the  sentry  on  guard  at  St.  Leonard  to 
lengthen  his  round  by  two  or  three  paces,' said  Hulot,  out 
of  patience  ;  c  in  that  way  he  will  come  in  front  of  Mile, 
de  Verneuil's  house.  I  shall  arrange  for  every  sentinel 
to  give  a  signal,  and  I  myself  shall  wait  in  the  guard- 
house. Then  when  they  let  me  know  that  any  young 
man  whatever  has  entered  the  town,  I  shall  take  a  cor- 
poral and  four  men  with  me,  and  ' 

1  And  how  if  the  young  man  is  not  the  Marquis  after 
all  ? '  said  Corentin,  interrupting  the  impetuous  soldier. 

Y 


338 


The  Chouans 


c  How  if  the  Marquis  enters  by  none  of  the  gates  ?  If  he 
is  in  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house  already  ?    If— if  ' 

Corentin  looked  at  the  commandant  with  an  air  of 
superiority  in  which  there  was  something  so  offensive  that 
the  old  soldier  exclaimed — 

c  Mille  tonnerres  de  Dieu !  Go  about  your  business, 
citizen  of  hell !  What  is  all  that  to  me  ?  If  this  cock- 
chafer tumbles  into  one  of  my  guard-houses,  there  is  no 
help  for  it,  but  I  must  shoot  him ;  if  I  hear  that  he  is  in 
a  house,  there  is  no  help  for  it,  but  I  must  search  the 
house  and  take  him  and  shoot  him.  But  the  devil  fetch 
me  if  I  will  cudgel  my  brains  to  soil  my  uniform  ' 

c  Commandant,  the  letter  from  the  three  ministers 
orders  you  to  obey  Mile,  de  Verneuil.' 

'  Let  her  come  to  me  herself,  citizen,  and  then  I  will 
see  what  I  will  do.' 

4  Very  good,  citizen/  Corentin  answered  stiffly ;  4  she 
will  not  be  very  long  about  it.  She  shall  tell  you  herself 
the  hour  and  the  minute  when  the  ci-devant  comes. 
Possibly  she  will  not  be  content  until  she  has  seen  you 
post  the  sentries  and  surround  her  house  ! ' 

6  He  is  the  devil  incarnate  ! 9  said  Hulot  plaintively,  as 
he  watched  Corentin  stride  back  up  the  Queen's  Staircase, 
where  all  this  had  taken  place,  and  reach  St.  Leonard's 
gate.  c  He  is  for  betraying  the  citizen  Montauran  to 
me,  bound  hand  and  foot,'  the  chief  of  demi-brigade  went 
on,  speaking  to  himself,  c  and  I  shall  have  the  plague  of 
presiding  at  a  court-martial.  c  After  all,'  said  he,  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders,  cthe  Gars  is  an  enemy  of  the 
Republic  ;  he  killed  my  poor  friend  Gerard,  and  in  any 
case  he  is  an  aristocrat.    But  the  devil  take  it !  • 

He  turned  quickly  on  his  heel,  and  set  out  to  go  the 
rounds  of  the  town,  whistling  the  Marseillaise  as  he  went. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  was  steeped  in  those  musings  whose 
secrets  lie  buried,  as  it  were,  in  the  inmost  depths  of  the 
soul ;   musings  made  up  of  numberless  thoughts  and 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  339 


emotions  at  war  with  one  another,  which  have  often 
proved  to  those  who  have  suffered  from  them  that  a 
stormy  and  passionate  life  may  be  lived  within  four 
walls ;  nay,  without  even  leaving  the  ottoman  whereon 
existence  is  burning  itself  away.  The  girl  who  was  now 
face  to  face  with  the  catastrophe  of  a  drama  of  her  own 
seeking  reviewed  each  scene  of  love  or  anger  that  had 
stimulated  life  so  powerfully  during  the  ten  days  that  had 
elapsed  since  she  first  met  the  Marquis.  While  she 
mused,  the  sound  of  a  man's  footstep,  echoing  in  the 
adjoining  salon,  made  her  tremble ;  the  door  opened, 
she  turned  her  head  quickly,  and  saw  Corentin. 

4  Little  trickster ! '  said  the  superior  agent  of  police, 
'  so  you  still  have  a  mind  to  deceive  me  ?  Oh  !  Marie  ! 
Marie  !  you  are  playing  a  very  dangerous  game  when 
you  determine  on  the  strokes  without  consulting  me,  and 
do  not  attach  me  to  your  interests  !  If  the  Marquis  has 
escaped  his  fate  ' 

c  It  has  been  through  no  fault  of  yours,  is  not  that 
what  you  mean  ? '  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  with  poignant 
irony.  cWhat  right  have  you  to  enter  my  house  a 
second  time  ? '  she  went  on  severely. 

c  Tour  house  ?  ?  he  queried  in  bitter  tones. 

'You  remind  me,'  she  replied  with  dignity,  c that  I 
am  not  in  my  own  house.  Perhaps  you  deliberately 
chose  it  out,  so  that  you  might  the  more  surely  do  your 
murderous  work  here  ?  I  will  go  out  of  it.  I  would 
go  out  into  a  desert  rather  than  receive  ' 

'Spies — speak  out !  '  Corentin  concluded.  'But  this 
house  is  neither  yours  nor  mine  ;  it  belongs  to  the 
Government ;  and  as  for  leaving  it,'  he  added,  with  a 
diabolical  glance  at  her,  c  you  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind.' 

An  indignant  impulse  brought  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to 
her  feet.  She  made  a  step  or  two  towards  him,  but 
suddenly  came  to  a  standstill,  for  she  saw  Corentin  raise 
the  curtain  over  the  window,  and  the  smile  with  which 
he  asked  her  to  rejoin  him. 


340 


The  Chouans 


4  Do  you  see  that  column  of  smoke  ? '  he  said,  with  the 
unshaken  calmness  which  he  knew  how  to  preserve  in  his 
haggard  face,  however  deeply  his  feelings  had  been  stirred. 

4  What  connection  can  there  possibly  be  between  my 
departure  and  those  weeds  that  they  are  burning  ?  •  she 
iuquired. 

4 Why  is  your  voice  so  changed?'  asked  Corentin. 
'Poor  little  thing,'  he  added  in  gentle  tones,  'I  know 
everything  !  The  Marquis  is  coming  to  Fougeres  to- 
day ;  and  you  had  no  purpose  in  your  mind  of  giving 
him  up  to  us  when  you  set  this  boudoir  in  such  festive 
array,  with  flowers  and  lights.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  turned  pale.  She  read  Montauran's 
death-warrant  in  the  eyes  of  this  tiger  in  human  shape, 
and  the  love  within  her  for  her  lover  grew  to  frenzy. 
Every  hair  of  her  head  seemed  to  be  a  source  of  hideous 
and  intolerable  pain,  and  she  sank  down  upon  the  otto- 
man. For  a  moment  Corentin  stood  with  his  arms 
folded  across  his  chest.  He  was  half-pleased  at  the  sight 
of  a  torture  which  avenged  all  the  sarcasms  and  scorn 
that  the  woman  before  him  had  heaped  upon  his  head, 
half- vexed  to  see  a  being  suffer  whose  yoke  he  had  liked 
to  bear,  heavily  though  it  had  lain  on  him. 

4  She  loves  him  ! '  he  said  in  a  smothered  voice. 

4  Loves  him  f '  she  cried  ;  what  does  that  word  signify  ? 
.  .  .  Corentin,  he  is  my  life,  my  soul,  my  very 
breath  ' 

The  man's  calmness  appalled  her ;  she  flung  herself  at 
his  feet. 

c  Sordid  soul ! '  she  cried  ->  4  I  would  rather  abase  myself 
to  obtain  his  life  than  abase  myself  to  take  it !  Save  him 
I  will,  at  the  price  of  every  drop  of  blood  in  me.  Speak  ! 
What  do  you  want  ? ' 

Corentin  trembled. 

4 1  came  to  take  my  orders  from  you,  Marie,'  he  said, 
in  dulcet  tones,  as  he  raised  her  with  polished  grace. 
4  Yes,  Marie,  your  insults  will  not  check  my  devotion  to 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  341 


you,  provided  that  you  never  deceive  me  again.  As  you 
know,  Marie,  no  one  ever  fools  me  and  goes  scatheless.' 

4  Oh  !  if  you  want  me  to  love  you,  Corentin,  help  me 
to  save  him  ! ' 

c  Well,  when  is  the  Marquis  coming  ? '  he  said,  forcing 
himself  to  ask  the  question  calmly. 

c  Alas  !  I  do  not  know.' 

They  both  looked  at  each  other  in  silence. 

4  I  am  lost ! '  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil  to  herself. 

4  She  is  playing  me  false,'  thought  Corentin.  4  Marie,5 
he  went  on,  4 1  have  two  maxims :  one  is,  never  to 
believe  a  word  that  women  say — which  is  the  way  to 
avoid  being  gulled  by  them ;  and  the  other  is,  always  to 
seek  to  discover  whether  they  have  not  some  motive  for 
doing  the  very  opposite  of  the  thing  they  say,  and  for 
behaving  in  a  fashion  the  very  reverse  of  the  course  of 
action  which  they  are  kind  enough  to  disclose  to  us  in 
confidence.    Now,  we  understand  each  other,  I  think.' 

4  Admirably,'  replied  Mile,  de  Verneuil.  4  You  require 
proofs  of  my  good  faith ;  but  I  am  holding  them  back 
until  you  shall  give  me  proofs  of  yours.' 

4  Good-bye,  mademoiselle,'  said  Corentin  drily. 

4  Come,'  the  girl  said,  smiling  at  him,  4  sit  down.  Seat 
yourself  there,  and  do  not  be  sulky,  or  I  shall  readily 
find  means  to  save  the  Marquis  without  your  aid.  As 
for  the  three  hundred  thousand  francs  that  are  always 
spread  out  before  your  eyes,  I  can  lay  them  there  upon 
the  chimney-piece,  in  gold,  for  you  the  moment  that  the 
Marquis  is  in  safety.' 

Corentin  rose  to  his  feet,  drew  back  several  paces,  and 
looked  at  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

4  You  have  grown  rich  in  a  very  short  time  ! '  said  he, 
with  ill-concealed  bitterness  in  his  tones. 

4  Montauran  himself  could  offer  you  very  much  more 
for  his  ransom,'  said  Marie,  with  a  pitying  smile.  4  So 
prove  to  me  that  it  is  in  your  power  to  protect  him  against 
all  dangers,  and  * 


34* 


The  Chouans 


c  Could  you  not  arrange  for  him  to  escape  the  very 
moment  that  he  arrives,'  Corentin  exclaimed  suddenly, 
c  for  Hulot  does  not  know  the  hour,  and  * 

He  broke  off  as  though  he  blamed  himself  for  having 
said  too  much. 

4  But  can  it  be  that  you  are  asking  me  for  a  stratagem?' 
he  went  on,  smiling  in  the  most  natural  manner.  *  Listen, 
Marie,  I  am  certain  of  your  good  faith.  Promise  that 
you  will  make  good  to  me  all  that  I  am  losing  by  serving 
you,  and  I  will  see  that  that  blockhead  of  a  commandant 
shall  sleep  so  soundly  that  the  Marquis  will  be  as  much 
at  liberty  here  in  Fougeres  as  in  Saint  James  itself/ 

c  I  give  you  my  word,'  the  girl  said,  with  a  kind  of 
solemnity. 

4  Not  in  that  way  though,'  he  said.  4  Swear  it  by 
your  mother.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  shivered  ;  then  she  raised  a  trembling 
hand  and  took  the  oath  the  man  required  of  her.  His 
manners  underwent  an  instant  change. 

*  You  may  do  what  you  will  with  me,'  said  Corentin. 
c  Do  not  deceive  me,  and  you  will  bless  me  this  evening.' 

c  I  believe  you,  Corentin ! '  exclaimed  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 
quite  softened  towards  him. 

She  bowed  graciously  as  she  took  leave  of  him,  and 
there  was  a  kindliness  not  unmingled  with  wonder  in 
her  smile,  when  she  saw  the  expression  of  melancholy 
tenderness  on  his  face. 

4  What  an  entrancing  creature  ! '  cried  Corentin,  as  he 
withdrew.  c  And  is  she  never  to  be  mine,  never  to  be 
the  instrument  of  my  fortune  and  the  source  of  my 
pleasures  ?  To  think  that  she  should  throw  herself  at 
my  feet !  .  .  .  Yes,  the  Marquis  shall  die ;  and  if  I  can 
only  obtain  her  by  plunging  her  in  the  mire,  I  will  thrust 
her  down  into  it.  Yet,  it  is  possible  that  she  mistrusts 
me  no  longer,'  he  said  to  himself  as  he  reached  the  square, 
whither  he  had  unconsciously  bent  his  steps.  c  A  hundred 
thousand  crowns  at  a  moment's  notice  !    She  thinks  that 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  343 


I  covet  money.  It  is  a  trick  of  hers,  or  else  she  has 
married  him.' 

Corentin  did  not  venture  to  resolve  on  anything ;  he 
was  lost  in  thought.  The  fog,  which  the  sun  had  par- 
tially dispelled  at  noon,  gradually  thickened  again,  and 
grew  so  dense  at  last  that  Corentin  could  no  longer  see 
the  trees,  though  they  were  only  a  short  distance  from  him. 

c  Here  is  a  fresh  piece  of  bad  luck,'  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  went  slowly  back  to  his  lodging.  4  It  is  impossible 
to  see  anything  six  paces  off.  The  weather  is  shielding 
our  lovers.  How  is  a  house  to  be  watched  when  it  is 
enveloped  in  such  a  fog  as  this  ?  Who  goes  there  ? '  he 
called,  as  he  caught  an  arm  belonging  to  some  unknown 
person,  who  had  apparently  scrambled  up  on  to  the 
promenade  over  the  most  dangerous  places  of  the  rock. 

4  It  is  I,'  was  the  guileless  answer  in  a  child's  voice. 

4  Ah  !  it  is  the  little  red-foot  lad.  Do  you  not  want 
to  avenge  your  father  ? '  Corentin  asked. 

4  Yes  ! '  cried  the  child. 

4  Good.  Do  you  know  the  Gars  when  you  see  him  ? ' 
4  Yes.' 

4  Better  still.  Now  keep  with  me,  and  do  exactly  as  I 
bid  you  in  everything,  and  you  will  finish  your  mother's 
work,  and  earn  some  big  pennies.  Do  you  like  big 
pennies  ? ' 

'Yes.' 

4  So  you  like  big  pennies,  and  you  want  to  kill  the 
Gars.  I  will  take  care  of  you. — Now,  Marie  ! '  Corentin 
said  within  himself  after  a  pause,  4  you  shall  give  him  up 
to  us  yourself.  She  is  too  impetuous  to  think  calmly  over 
the  blow  that  I  mean  to  give  her ;  and  besides,  passion 
never  reflects.  She  does  not  know  Montauran's  hand- 
writing ;  now  is  the  time  to  set  the  snare  into  which  her 
nature  will  make  her  rush  blindfold.  But  Hulot  is 
necessary  to  me  if  my  scheme  is  to  succeed.  I  will  go 
and  see  him. 

Meanwhile  Mile,  de  Verneuil  and    Francine  were 


344 


The  Chouans 


pondering  devices  for  saving  the  Marquis  from  Corentin's 
dubious  generosity  and  Hulot's  bayonets. 

CI  will  go  and  warn  him!'  the  little  Breton  maid  cried. 

*  Mad  girl !  do  you  know  where  he  is  ?  I  myself, 
with  all  the  instincts  of  my  heart  to  guide  me,  might 
search  a  long  while  for  him  and  never  find  him/ 

After  devising  a  goodly  number  of  the  wild  schemes 
that  are  so  easily  carried  out  by  the  fireside,  Mile,  de 
Verneuil  exclaimed,  c  When  I  see  him,  his  peril  will  give 
me  inspiration  ! ' 

Like  all  vehement  natures,  she  delighted  in  leaving 
her  course  undecided  till  the  last  moment — trusting  in 
her  star,  or  in  the  ready  wit  and  skill  that  seldom  deserts 
a  woman.  Perhaps  nothing  had  ever  wrung  her  heart  so 
violently  before.  Sometimes  she  seemed  to  remain  in  a 
kind  of  stupor,  with  her  eyes  set  in  a  stare  ;  sometimes 
the  slightest  sound  shook  her  from  head  to  foot,  as  some 
half-uprooted  tree  quivers  violently  when  the  woodman's 
rope  about  it  drags  it  hastily  to  its  fall.  There  was  a 
sudden  loud  report  in  the  distance  as  a  dozen  guns  were 
fired.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  turned  pale,  caught  Francine's 
hand,  and  said — 

cl  am  dying,  Francine  ;  they  have  killed  him  ! ' 

They  heard  the  heavy  footstep  of  a  soldier  in  the  salon, 
and  the  terrified  Francine  rose  to  admit  a  corporal.  The 
Republican  made  a  military  salute,  and  presented  Mile, 
de  Verneuil  with  some  letters  written  on  soiled  paper. 
As  he  received  no  acknowledgment  from  the  young  lady 
to  whom  he  gave  them,  he  said  as  he  withdrew — 

'They  are  from  the  commandant,  madame.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil,  a  prey  to  dark  forebodings,  read  the 
letter,  which  Hulot  had  probably  written  in  haste — 

c  Mademoiselle,'  so  it  ran,  6  my  Counter-Chouans  have 
seized  one  of  the  Gars's  messengers,  who  has  just  been 
shot.  Among  the  letters  thus  intercepted  is  the  one  that 
I  send,  which  may  be  of  some  use  to  you,'  etc. 

c Heaven  be  thanked,  it  was  not  he  whom  they  killed!' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  345 


she  cried,  as  she  threw  the  letter  into  the  fire.  She 
breathed  more  freely,  and  eagerly  read  the  note  that  had 
just  been  sent  to  her.  It  was  from  the  Marquis,  and 
appeared  to  be  addressed  to  Mme.  du  Gua — 

c  No,  my  angel,  this  evening  I  shall  not  be  at  the 
Vivetiere,  and  this  evening  you  will  lose  your  wager 
with  the  Count,  for  I  shall  triumph  over  the  Republic  in 
the  person  of  this  delicious  girl,  who  is  certainly  worth  a 
night,  as  you  must  agree.  This  is  the  only  real  advan- 
tage that  I  have  gained  in  the  campaign,  for  La  Vendee  is 
submitting.  There  is  nothing  left  for  us  to  do  in  France, 
and  we  will,  of  course,  return  to  England  together.  But 
serious  business  to-morrow  ! ' 

The  note  slipped  from  her  fingers.  She  closed  her 
eyes  and  lay  back  in  absolute  silence,  with  her  head 
propped  by  a  cushion.  After  a  long  pause  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  the  clock  and  read  the  hour ;  it  was  four  in  the 
afternoon. 

c  And  my  lord  is  keeping  me  waiting  ! '  she  said,  with 
savage  irony. 

4  Oh  !  perhaps  he  could  not  come  ! '  said  Francine. 

c  If  he  does  not  come/  said  Marie,  in  a  smothered 
voice,  CI  will  go  myself  to  find  him!  But,  no,  he 
cannot  be  much  longer  now.  Francine,  am  I  very 
beautiful  ? 9 

c  You  are  very  pale  ! ' 

c Look  round  ! 9  Mile  de  Verneuil  went  on  ;  c  might 
not  the  perfumed  room,  the  flowers,  and  the  lights,  this 
intoxicating  vapour  and  everything  here,  give  an  idea  of 
a  paradise  to  him  whom  to-night  I  will  steep  in  the  bliss 
of  love  ? 9 

'What  is  the  matter,  mademoiselle  ? f 

6 1  am  betrayed,  deceived  thwarted,  cheated,  duped, 
and  ruined.  I  will  kill  him  !  I  will  tear  him  in  pieces  ! 
Oh  !  yes,  there  was  always  something  contemptuous  in 
his  manner  that  he  scarcely  concealed,  but  I  would  not 
see  it !     Oh  !  this  will  kill  me  !    What  a  fool  I  am  ! ' 


346 


The  Chouans 


she  laughed  ->  che  is  on  his  way,  and  to-night  I  will 
teach  him  that,  whether  wedded  to  me  or  no,  the 
man  who  has  possessed  me  can  never  forsake  me  after- 
wards. My  revenge  shall  be  commensurate  with  his 
offence — he  shall  die  in  despair  !  I  thought  that  there 
was  something  great  in  him ;  but  he  is  the  son  of  a 
lackey,  there  is  no  question  of  it.  Truly,  he  has  deceived 
me  cleverly  !  Even  now,  I  can  scarcely  believe  that  the 
man  who  was  capable  of  giving  me  up  to  Pille-Miche 
without  mercy  could  condescend  to  trickery  not  unworthy 
of  Scapin.  It  is  so  easy  to  dupe  a  loving  woman,  that 
it  is  the  lowest  depth  of  baseness  !  He  might  kill  me  ; 
well  and  good ;  but  that  he  should  lie  to  me,  to  me  who 
had  set  him  on  high  !  To  the  scaffold  with  him  !  ] 
wish  I  could  see  him  guillotined  !  Am  I  so  very  cruel  ? 
He  shall  go  to  his  death  covered  with  kisses  and  caresses, 
which  will  have  been  worth  twenty  years  of  life  to  him.' 

6  Marie,'  said  Francine  with  angelic  meekness,  c  be 
the  victim  of  your  lover,  as  so  many  another  has  been, 
but  do  not  be  his  mistress  or  his  executioner.  In  the 
depths  of  your  heart  you  can  keep  his  image,  and  it  need 
not  make  you  cruel  to  yourself.  If  there  were  no  joy  in 
love  when  hope  is  gone,  what  would  become  of  us,  poor 
women  that  we  are  ?  The  God  of  whom  you  never 
think,  Marie,  will  reward  us  for  having  submitted  to  our 
lot  upon  earth — to  our  vocation  of  loving  and  suffering.' 

'Little  puss,'  answered  Mile,  de  Verneuil,  as  she 
stroked  Francine's  hand,  c  your  voice  is  very  sweet  and 
very  winning.  Reason,  when  she  takes  your  form,  has 
many  charms.    How  I  wish  that  I  could  obey  you  ! ' 

4  You  will  forgive  him  ?    You  will  not  give  him  up  ? 9 

1  Hush  !  do  not  speak  of  that  man  any  more.  Corentin 
is  a  noble  creature  compared  with  him.  Do  you  under- 
stand me  ? 9 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  Her  wild  thoughts  and  unquench- 
able thirst  for  vengeance  were  concealed  beneath  the 
dreadful  quietness  of  her  face.    The  very  slowness  of  her 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  347 


measured  footsteps  seemed  to  betoken  the  fixed  purpose 
in  her  mind  in  an  indescribable  way.  Devouring  this 
insult,  tormented  by  her  own  thoughts,  and  too  proud  to 
own  to  the  least  of  her  pangs,  she  went  to  the  guard- 
house in  St.  Leonard's  gate,  to  ask  to  be  directed  to  the 
commandant's  lodging.  She  had  scarcely  left  the  house 
when  Corendn  entered  it. 

c  Oh,  M.  Corentin,'  cried  Francine,cifyou  areinterested 
in  that  young  man,  save  him  !  Mademoiselle  will  give 
him  up.    This  wretched  paper  has  ruined  everything.' 

Corentin  took  up  the  letter  carelessly.  4  Where  is  she 
gone  ? '  he  inquired. 

4  I  do  not  know.' 

4 1  will  hurry  after  her,'  he  said,  4  to  save  her  from  her 
own  despair.' 

He  vanished,  taking  the  letter  with  him,  hurried  out 
of  the  house  with  all  speed,  and  spoke  to  the  little  boy 
who  was  playing  about  before  the  door. 

4  Which  way  did  the  lady  go  when  she  went  out  just 
now  ? ' 

Galope-C h opine's  son  went  several  paces  with  Corentin, 
and  pointed  out  the  steep  road  which  led  to  St.  Leonard's 
gate. 

c  That  way,'  he  said,  without  hesitating,  faithful  to  the 
instinct  of  vengeance  that  his  mother  had  inspired  in  him. 

While  he  was  speaking  four  men  in  disguise  entered 
Mile,  de  VerneuiPs  house ;  but  neither  Corentin  nor  the 
little  boy  saw  them. 

4  Go  back  to  your  post,'  the  spy  said.  4  Look  as  though 
you  were  amusing  yourself  by  turning  the  latches  on  the 
shutters,  but  keep  a  sharp  lookout  in  every  direction, 
even  upon  the  roofs.' 

Corentin  sped  in  the  direction  pointed  out  by  the  child. 
He  thought  that  he  recognised  Mile,  de  Verneuil  in  the 
fog,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  came  up  with  her  just  as 
she  reached  St.  Leonard's  gate. 

4  Where  are  you  going  ? 9  said  he,  offering  his  arm  to 


34* 


The  Chouans 


her.  *  You  look  pale  ;  what  can  have  happened  ?  Is  it 
fitting  for  you  to  go  out  alone  in  this  way  ?  Take  my 
arm.' 

c  Where  is  the  commandant  ? '  she  asked  him. 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  scarcely  finished  the  sentence 
when  she  heard  a  reconnoitring  party  moving  outside  St. 
Leonard's  gate,  and  soon  distinguished  Hulot's  deep  bass 
voice  among  the  other  confused  sounds. 

c  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  9  he  exclaimed.  c  I  have  never 
seen  it  thicker  than  it  is  just  now  when  we  are  making 
the  rounds.  The  ci-devant  seems  to  have  the  control  of 
the  weather.' 

4  What  are  you  grumbling  at  ? 9  said  Mile,  de  Verneuil, 
as  she  grasped  his  arm  tightly ;  ( the  fog  can  hide  ven- 
geance as  well  as  perfidy.  Commandant,'  she  went  on 
in  a  low  voice,  c  it  is  a  question  now  of  taking  such 
measures  in  concert  with  me  that  the  Gars  shall  not 
escape  us  this  time.' 

c  Is  he  in  your  house  ? '  he  asked,  and  there  was  a 
troubled  sound  in  his  voice  that  showed  his  astonishment. 

c  No,'  she  replied  ;  c  but  give  me  a  man  that  can  be 
depended  upon,  and  I  will  send  him  to  you,  to  warn 
you  of  the  Marquis's  arrival.' 

c  What  are  you  doing  ? '  Corentin  asked  with  eager 
haste.  c  A  soldier  in  your  house  will  scare  him,  but  a 
child  (I  will  find  one)  will  not  awaken  suspicion  ' 

c  Commandant,'  Mile,  de  Verneuil  resumed,  4  you 
can  surround  my  house  at  once,  thanks  to  this  fog  that 
you  execrate.  Post  soldiers  about  it  in  every  direction. 
Place  a  picket  in  St.  Leonard's  church  so  as  to  secure  the  j 
esplanade,  which  is  overlooked  by  my  windows.  Post 
men  on  the  Promenade  itself ;  for  though  my  window  is 
twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  despair  sometimes  gives 
strength  sufficient  to  overleap  the  most  perilous  distances 
Listen ;  I  shall  probably  send  this  gentleman  away 
through  the  house  door ;  so  you  must  give  the  task  of 
watching  it  to  none  but  a  brave  man  ;  for  no  one  can 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  349 

:  deny  his  courage,'  she  said,  heaving  a  sigh,  c  and  he  will 
A  fight  for  his  life.' 

6  Gudin  ! '  cried  the  commandant. 
The  young  Fougerais  sprang  forward.    He  had  been 
^  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  knot  of  men  who  had  returned 
:t«  with  Hulot,  and  who  had  remained  drawn  up  in  rank  at 
®  a  little  distance. 

4  Listen,  my  boy,'  the  old  soldier  said  in  low  tones, 
i  c  this  confounded  girl  is  betraying  the  Gars  to  us.  I  do 
i  not  know  why,  but  no  matter,  that  is  not  our  business, 
uf  Take  ten  men  with  you  and  post  them  so  as  to  guard  the 
blind-alley  and  the  girl's  house  at  the  end  of  it ;  but  you 
il>  must  manage  so  that  neither  you  nor  your  men  are  seen.' 

6  Yes,  commandant,  I  know  the  ground.' 
on     i  Well,  my  boy,'  Hulot  went  on,  '  I  will  send  Beau- 
ck  Pied  to  you  to  let  you  know  when  the  moment  comes 
lot  to  be  up  and  doing.   Try  to  tackle  the  Marquis  yourself ; 

and  if  you  can  kill  him,  so  that  I  shall  not  have  to  try 
i  a  him  first  and  shoot  him  afterwards,  you  shall  be  a  lieu- 
d  tenant  in  a  fortnight,  or  my  name  is  not  Hulot.  Here, 
be  mademoiselle,'  he  said,  as  he  pointed  to  Gudin;  chere  is  a 
in  brave  fellow  who  will  flinch  from  nothing.  He  will  keep 
a  sharp  lookout  before  your  house,  and  whether  the 
?ei  ci-devant  comes  out  or  tries  to  go  in,  he  will  not  miss  him.' 
1 1     Gudin  set  out  with  his  ten  soldiers. 

*  Do  you  clearly  understand  what  you  are  about  ? 9 
u  Corentin  murmured  to  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 
t  She  made  him  no  answer.  With  a  kind  of  satisfaction 
,  she  watched  the  men  start,  under  the  orders  of  the  sub- 
;  lieutenant,  to  post  themselves  on  the  promenade,  and 
i  yet  others,  who,  in  obedience  to  Hulot's  directions,  took 
\  i  up  their  position  along  the  dark  walls  of  St.  Leonard's 
j  I  church. 

f-j     'There  are  houses  adjoining  mine,'  she  said  to  the 
i !  commandant ;  1  surround  them  also.    Let  us  not  lay  up 
{ ;  matter  for  repentance  by  neglecting  a  single  precaution 
j  that  we  ought  to  take.' 


The  Chouans 


*  She  is  mad,'  thought  Hulot. 

c  Am  I  not  a  prophet  ? '  Corentin  said  in  his  ear. 
c  The  child  I  shall  send  to  the  house  is  the  little  gars  with 
the  bloody  foot,  so  that  ' 

He  did  not  finish.  Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  suddenly 
darted  away  towards  her  house,  whither  he  followed  her, 
whistling  like  a  happy  man.  When  he  came  up  with 
her  she  had  already  reached  her  doorstep,  where  Corentin 
once  more  found  Galope-Chopine's  son. 

*  Mademoiselle/  he  said,  4  take  this  little  fellow  with 
you;  you  could  not  have  a  more  guileless  and  active 
messenger.' 

Then  he  breathed  (so  to  speak)  the  following  words 
into  the  little  lad's  ear :  c  When  you  have  once  seen  the 
Gars  within  the  house,  no  matter  what  they  say  to  you, 
run  away,  come  and  find  me  at  the  guard-house,  and  I 
will  give  you  enough  to  find  you  in  bread  for  the  rest  of 
your  life.  Corentin  felt  his  hand  squeezed  hard  by  the 
young  Breton,  who  followed  Mile,  de  Verneuil. 

4  Now,  my  good  friends,  come  to  an  explanation  when- 
ever you  like,'  cried  Corentin,  when  the  door  was  shut. 
c  If  you  make  love,  my  lord  Marquis,  it  will  be  over  your 
own  shroud  ! ' 

Yet  Corentin  could  not  bring  himself  to  go  out  of 
sight  of  that  fatal  house,  and  betook  himself  to  the 
Promenade,  where  he  found  the  commandant  busily  giving 
orders.  Night  soon  came  on.  Two  hours  passed  by, 
and  still  the  different  sentries  distributed  at  their  posts 
had  seen  nothing  that  could  lead  them  to  suspect  that  the 
Marquis  had  come  through  the  triple  line  of  men,  who 
were  watching  from  their  hiding-places  along  the  three  j 
sides  of  the  Papegaut's  Tower  by  which  access  was  possible. 
Corentin  had  walked  from  the  Promenade  to  the  guard- 
house a  score  of  times,  and  each  time  his  expectations 
had  been  disappointed,  and  his  young  messenger  had  not 
yet  come  to  find  him.  Plunged  in  deep  thought,  the  spy  j 
strolled  slowly  along  the  promenade,  undergoing  the 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  351 


-  vour 

.:  )( 

the 

in 
tfd] 

,  w:io 
:::c€ 


:;.( 


martyrdom  to  which  three  terrible  conflicting  passions 
subjected  him — a  victim  to  love,  ambition,  and  greed  of 
Sold. 

It  struck  eight  on  all  the  clocks.  The  moon  rose  late, 
so  that  the  scene  on  which  this  drama  of  his  own  devising 
was  about  to  come  to  a  crisis  was  wrapped  in  appalling 
*loom  by  the  darkness  and  the  thick  fog.  The  agent  of 
Dolice  managed  to  suppress  his  passions ;  he  locked  his 
irms  over  his  breast,  and  never  took  his  eyes  off  the 
window  that  stood  out  above  the  tower  like  a  gleaming 
Dhantom  shape.  Whenever  his  steps  led  him  to  the  side 
)f  the  promenade  nearest  the  valleys,  along  the  brink  of 
:he  precipices,  he  mechanically  scrutinised  the  fog,  with 
:he  long  pale  streaks  of  light  flung  across  it  here  and 
there,  from  some  window  among  the  houses  in  the 
:own  or  suburbs,  above  or  below  the  fortifications. 
The  deep  silence  that  prevailed  was  only  troubled  by 
he  murmur  of  the  Nan^on,  by  melancholy  sounds  at 
ntervals  from  the  belfry,  or  by  the  footsteps  of  the 
sentinels  and  the  clank  of  weapons,  when  they  came  to 
elieve  guard  hour  by  hour.  Everything,  men  and  nature 
dike,  had  grown  solemn. 

c  It  is  as  dark  as  a  wolf's  throat,'  Pille-Miche  remarked 
ust  then. 

'Go  along,'  replied  Marche-a-Terre,  'and  keep  as 
juiet  as  a  dead  dog.' 

I  scarcely  dare  draw  my  breath,'  the  Chouan  re- 
zorted. 

c  If  the  man  who  let  a  stone  roll  down  just  now  wants 
ny  knife  to  find  a  sheath  in  his  heart,  he  has  only  to  do  it 
igain,'  said  Marche-a-Terre,  in  so  low  a  voice  that  it 
ningled  confusedly  with  the  murmur  of  the  Nan^on. 
c  Why,  it  was  I,'  said  Pille-Miche. 
c  Well,  old  money-bag,  creep  along  on  your  belly  like  a 
;nake,  or  we  shall  leave  our  carcases  here  before  there  is 
iny  occasion  for  it.' 
4  Hi  !   Marche-a-Terre,'  the  incorrigible  Pille-Miche 


35* 


The  Chouans 


began  again.  He  had  laid  himself  flat  on  the  ground,  I 
and  was  using  both  hands  to  hoist  himself  on  to  the  path  I 
where  his  comrade  was,  and  now  he  spoke  in  the  ear  of 
the  latter  in  so  low  a  voice  that  the  Chouans  following  | 
behind  him  did  not  catch  a  syllable  that  he  said.  cHi! 
Marche-a-Terre,  if  we  are  to  believe  our  Grand-Garce,  j 
there  is  a  glorious  lot  of  plunder  up  there.  Will  you  go  1 
halves  ? ' 

c  Listen,  Pille-Miche  ! '  said  Marche-a-Terre,  as,  still 
flat  on  his  stomach,  he  came  to  a  stop,  a  movement  I 
imitated  by  the  whole  troop  of  Chouans,  so  exhausted  j 
were  they  by  the  difficulties  of  their  progress  up  the  f 
steep  sides  of  the  precipice. 

c  I  know  you  for  one  of  those  honest  grab-alls,  who  are  ( 
as  fond  of  giving  hard  knocks  as  of  taking  them,  when  * 
there  is  no  other  choice.    We  have  not  come  here  after  \ 
dead  men's  shoes ;  it  is  devil  against  devil,  and  woe  to 
them  that  have  the  shorter  claws  !    The  Grande-Garce 
sent  us  here  to  rescue  the  Gars.    That  is  where  he  is, 
look  !    Lift  up  your  dog's  head  and  look  at  that  window, 
up  above  the  tower  ! '    It  was  on  the  stroke  of  midnight 
as  he  spoke.    The  moon  rose,  and  the  fog  began  to  look 
like  pale  smoke.    Pille-Miche  gripped  Marche-a-Terre's 
arm  violently,  and  pointed  out,  without  making  a  sound, 
the  gleaming  triangular  blades  of  several  bayonets,  some 
ten  feet  above  them. 

cThe  Blues  are   there   already,'  said  Pille-Miche; 
6  we  have  not  a  chance  against  them.' 

4  Patience  ! '  replied  Marche-a-Terre  •>  cif  I  looked  into 
it  thoroughly  this  morning,  there  should  be,  somewhere 
about  the  base  of  the  Papegaut's  Tower  and  between 
the  ramparts  and  the  promenade,  a  space  where  they  are 
always  heaping  manure ;  one  can  drop  down  on  to  it  as 
if  it  were  a  bed.' 

c  If  St.  Labre  would  turn  all  the  blood  that  will  be  shed 
into  good  cider,  the  Fougeres  people  would  find  a  very 
ample  supply  of  it  to-morrow,'  remarked  Pille-Miche. 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  353 


Marche-a-Terre  laid  his  great  hand  over  his  friend's 
mouth  ;  then  the  muttered  caution  that  he  gave  passed 
from  line  to  line  till  it  reached  the  last  Chouan,  who 
clung  aloft  to  the  heather  on  the  schistous  rock.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Corentin  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  the 
esplanade,  and  his  ears  were  too  accustomed  to  vigilance 
not  to  detect  the  rustling  noises  made  by  the  shrubs  as  the 
Chouans  pulled  and  twisted  them,  and  the  faint  sound 
of  the  pebbles  that  fell  to  the  foot  of  the  precipice  below. 
Marche-a-Terre  apparently  possessed  the  gift  of  seeing 
through  the  darkness,  or  his  senses  had  become  as  acute 
as  those  of  a  savage  by  being  constantly  called  into  play. 
He  had  caught  sight  of  Corentin,  or  perhaps  he  had 
scented  him  like  a  well-trained  dog.  The  diplomatist 
spy  listened  intently  to  the  silence,  and  scanned  the 
natural  wall  of  the  schist,  but  he  could  discover  nothing 
there.  If  the  hazy  dubious  light  allowed  him  to  see  a 
few  of  the  Chouans  at  all,  he  took  them  for  fragments  of 
the  rock,  so  thoroughly  did  the  living  bodies  preserve  the 
appearance  of  inanimate  nature.  The  danger  to  the 
troop  did  not  last  long.  Corentin's  attention  was  called 
away  by  a  very  distinct  and  audible  sound  which  came 
from  the  other  end  of  the  Promenade  at  a  spot  where  the 
buttress-wall  came  to  an  end  and  the  sheer  face  of  the 
rock  began.  A  pathway  that  ran  along  the  edge  of  the 
schist  and  communicated  with  the  Queen's  Staircase 
also  ended  at  this  point,  just  where  the  rock  and  the 
masonry  met.  As  Corentin  reached  the  spot,  a  form  rose 
up  as  if  by  magic  before  his  eyes ;  and  when,  feeling 
doubtful  as  to  its  intentions,  he  stretched  out  a  hand  to 
lay  hold  of  the  being  (phantom  or  otherwise),  he  grasped 
the  soft  and  rounded  outlines  of  a  woman. 

'The  devil  take  it,  good  woman,' he  muttered  in  a  low 
tone ;  c  if  you  had  happened  on  any  one  else,  you  might 
have  come  in  for  a  bullet  through  your  head.  Where 
do  you  come  from,  and  where  are  you  going  at  this  time 
of  night  ?    Are  you  dumb  ? ' 


354 


The  Chouans 


c  It  really  is  a  woman,  at  any  rate,'  said  he  to  himself. 

Silence  was  growing  dangerous,  so  the  stranger  replied 
in  tones  that  showed  her  great  alarm — 

c  Oh  !  I  am  coming  back  from  an  up-sitting,  master.* 

c  It  is  the  Marquis's  make-believe  mother,'  said  Corentin 
to  himself.    c  Let  us  see  what  she  will  do.' 

c  All  right ;  go  along  that  way,  old  woman,'  he  went  on 
aloud,  pretending  not  to  recognise  her.  '  Go  to  the  left 
if  you  don't  want  to  be  shot.' 

He  stood  motionless,  till,  seeing  that  Mme.  du  Gua 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  Papegaut's  Tower,  he  fol- 
lowed her  at  a  distance  with  diabolical  cunning.  While 
this  fateful  meeting  was  taking  place,  the  Chouans  had 
very  cleverly  taken  up  their  position  on  the  manure-heap 
to  which  Marche-a-Terre  had  guided  them. 

c  There  is  the  Grande-Garce ! '  muttered  Marche-a- 
Terre  to  himself,  while  he  shuffled  along  the  side  of  the 
tower  as  a  bear  might  have  done. 

6  Here  we  are  ! '  he  said  to  the  lady. 

c  Good  ! '  Mme.  du  Gua  replied.  c  If  you  can  find  a 
ladder  about  the  house  or  in  the  garden  that  comes  to 
an  end  about  six  feet  below  the  manure  heap,  the  Gars 
will  be  saved.  Do  you  see  the  round  window  up  there  ? 
It  is  in  a  dressing-room  that  opens  out  of  the  bedroom ; 
and  you  must  reach  it.  This  side  of  the  tower,  at  the 
foot  of  which  you  are  standing,  is  the  one  side  that  is  not 
surrounded.  The  horses  are  ready  ;  and  if  you  have 
guarded  the  ford  of  the  Nan^on,  we  ought  to  have  him 
out  of  danger  in  fifteen  minutes,  in  spite  of  his  folly.  But 
if  that  wench  tries  to  follow  him,  stab  her.' 

Corentin  now  perceived  through  the  gloom  that  a  few 
of  the  vague  shapes  which  he  had  at  first  taken  for  rocks 
were  moving  stealthily ;  he  went  at  once  to  the  guard 
at  St.  Leonard's  Gate,  where  he  found  the  commandant 
fully  dressed,  but  sleeping  on  a  camp  bed. 

i  Let  him  alone  ! 9  Beau-Pied  said  roughly  to  Corentin  ; 
c  he  has  only  just  lain  down  there.' 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  355 


*  The  Chouans  are  here ! '  cried  Corentin  in  Hulot's  ears. 

1  Impossible !  but  so  much  the  better,'  said  the  com- 
mandant, heavy  with  sleep  though  he  was  ;  c  there  will  be 
fighting  at  any  rate  !  * 

When  Hulot  came  to  the  Promenade,  Corentin  pointed 
out  to  him,  through  the  darkness,  the  strange  position 
occupied  by  the  Chouans. 

'They  have  either  outwitted  or  gagged  the  sentries 
that  I  posted  between  the  Queen's  Staircase  and  the 
castle,'  exclaimed  the  commandant.  *  By  Jove  !  what 
a  fog  it  is  !  But  patience  !  I  will  send  fifty  men  and  a 
lieutenant  round  to  the  base  of  the  cliff.  We  must  not 
set  upon  them  from  above,  for  the  brutes  are  so  tough 
that  they  will  let  themselves  drop  to  the  bottom  of  the 
precipice  like  stones,  and  never  break  a  limb.' 

The  cracked  bell  in  the  church-tower  struck  two  as 
the  commandant  came  back  to  the  promenade,  after 
taking  the  most  stringent  measures  a  soldier  could  devise 
for  surprising  and  seizing  March-a-Terre  and  the 
Chouans  under  his  command.  Every  guard  had  been 
doubled,  so  that  by  this  time  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  house 
had  become  the  central  point  about  which  a  small  army 
was  gathered.  The  commandant  found  Corentin  absorbed 
in  contemplation  of  the  window  that  looked  out  over 
the  Papegaut's  tower. 

1  Citizen,'  said  Hulot,  addressing  him,  c  it  is  my  belief 
that  the  ci-devant  is  making  fools  of  us  all,  for  nothing 
has  stirred  so  far.' 

c  There  he  is  ! '  cried  Corentin,  pointing  to  the  window. 
( I  saw  a  man's  shadow  on  the  curtains.  But  I  do  not 
understand  what  has  become  of  my  little  boy.  They 
have  killed  him  or  gained  him  over.  Look  there,  com- 
mandant ;  do  you  see  ?    It  is  a  man.    Let  us  go.' 

c  Tonnerre  de  Dieu  !  I  am  not  going  to  arrest  him  in 
bed.  If  he  is  in  there,  he  is  sure  to  come  out ;  Gudin 
will  not  miss  him,'  replied  Hulot,  who  had  his  own 
reasons  for  delay. 


356 


The  Chouans 


c  Come,  now,  commandant ;  in  the  name  of  the  law,  I 
command  you  to  advance  instantly  upon  the  house.' 

4  You  are  a  pretty  fellow,  at  all  events,  to  think  to 
order  me  about.' 

The  commandant's  wrath  did  not  trouble  Corentin. 

c  You  will  obey  me,'  he  said  coolly ;  c  for  here  is  an 
order  drawn  up  in  due  form,  and  signed  by  the  Minister 
of  War,  which  will  compel  you  to  do  so.'  He  drew  a 
paper  from  his  pocket.  c  Do  you  really  think  that  we  are 
fools  enough  to  let  that  girl  act  according  to  her  own 
notions  ?  We  are  stamping  out  civil  war,  and  the  great- 
ness of  the  end  in  view  justifies  the  littleness  of  the  means 
employed.' 

4 1  take  the  liberty,  citizen,  of  sending  you  to  1 

You  understand  ?  That  is  enough,  then.  Put  your  best 
foot  foremost,  and  let  me  alone ;  and  do  it  in  less  than 
no  time.' 

4  Read  this  first ! '  said  Corentin. 

*  Don't  plague  me  about  your  business,'  cried  Hulot, 
furious  at  receiving  orders  from  a  creature  in  his  opinion 
so  despicable. 

Galope-Chopine's  son  started  up  between  the  two  at 
that  moment  like  a  rat  out  of  a  hole  in  the  ground. 
6  The  Gars  is  going  ! '  he  cried. 
4  Which  way  ? 9 
c  Along  the  Rue  St.  Leonard.' 

4  Beau- Pied,'  Hulot  whispered  to  the  corporal,  who  was 
standing  beside  him,  4  run  and  tell  your  lieutenant  to 
approach  the  house,  and  to  keep  up  some  nice  little  file- 
firing  upon  it ;  do  you  understand  ?  File  to  the  left,  and 
march  towards  the  tower,'  the  commandant  shouted  to 
the  rest  of  the  men. 

It  is  necessary,  if  the  close  of  the  drama  is  to  be  clearly 
understood,  to  return  and  to  enter  Mile,  de  Verneuil's 
house  with  her.  When  the  passions  are  excited  to  the 
highest  pitch,  the  intoxication  that  they  produce  is  far 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  357 


more  complete  than  anything  effected  by  those  paltry 
stimulants — wine  and  opium.  The  clearness  of  ideas  to 
which  we  attain  at  such  times,  the  subtle  keenness  of  our 
over-excited  senses,  bring  about  the  strangest  and  most 
unexpected  results.  Beneath  the  arbitrary  sway  of  one 
sole  thought,  certain  temperaments  can  clearly  perceive 
the  least  perceptible  things,  while  the  most  obvious 
matters  are  for  them  as  though  they  had  no  existence. 
Mile,  de  Verneuil  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  kind  of 
;  intoxication  which  makes  our  actual  existence  seem  to 
I  be  like  the  life  of  a  somnambulist.  When  she  had  read 
1  Montauran's  letter,  she  had  ordered  all  things  in  such  a 
;  way  that  he  could  not  escape  her  vengeance,  just  as 
eagerly  as  she  had  but  lately  made  every  preparation  for 
the  first  festival  of  her  love.  But  when  she  saw  her 
house  carefully  surrounded,  by  her  own  orders,  with  a 
triple  line  of  bayonets,  a  sudden  gleam  of  light  shone 
through  her  soul.  She  sat  in  judgment  upon  her  conduct, 
!  and  thought  with  a  kind  of  revulsion  that  she  had  just 
perpetrated  a  crime.  Her  first  uneasy  impulse  led  her  to 
spring  to  the  threshold  of  her  door,  and  to  stay  there 
motionless  for  a  brief  space,  trying  to  reflect,  but  utterly 
unable  to  follow  out  a  train  of  thought.  She  was  so 
little  aware  of  what  she  had  just  done,  that  she  wondered 
why  she  was  standing  in  the  vestibule  of  her  own  house 
holding  a  strange  child  by  the  hand.  Myriads  of  sparks 
like  little  tongues  of  flame  swam  in  the  air  before  her. 
She  took  a  step  or  two  to  shake  off  the  dreadful  numbness 
that  had  crept  over  her  senses,  but  nothing  appeared  to 
her  in  its  true  shape  or  with  its  real  colours ;  she  was  like 
one  that  slept.  She  seized  the  little  boy's  hand  with  a 
roughness  that  was  not  usual  to  her,  and  drew  him  along 
so  hurriedly,  that  she  seemed  to  possess  the  activity  of  a 
mad  woman.  She  saw  nothing  whatever  in  the  salon 
when  she  crossed  it,  though  three  men  greeted  her,  and 
stood  apart  to  allow  her  to  pass. 
c  Here  she  is  ! '  said  one  of  them. 


358 


The  Chouans 


6  She  is  very  beautiful ! '  the  priest  exclaimed. 

c  Yes/  replied  the  first  speaker,  4  but  how  pale  and 
troubled  she  is  9 

c  And  how  absent-minded  ! '  said  the  third  ;  c  she  does 
not  see  us.' 

At  the  door  of  her  own  room  Mile,  de  Verneuil  saw 
Francine,  who  whispered  to  her  with  a  sweet  and  happy 
face,  c  He  is  there,  Marie  ! 9 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  seemed  to  awake,  and  to  be  able  to 
think  ;  she  looked  down  at  the  child  whose  hand  she  held, 
recognised  him,  and  said  to  Francine — 

*  Shut  this  little  boy  up  somewhere,  and  if  you  wish  me 
to  live,  be  very  careful  not  to  let  him  escape.' 

While  she  slowly  uttered  the  words,  she  turned  her 
eyes  on  the  door  of  her  room,  on  which  they  rested  with 
such  appalling  fixity  that  it  might  have  been  thought 
that  she  saw  her  victim  through  the  thickness  of  the 
panels.  She  softly  pushed  the  door  open,  and  closed  it 
without  turning  herself,  for  she  saw  the  Marquis  standing 
before  the  hearth.  He  was  handsomely^  but  not  too 
elaborately  dressed  ;  and  there  was  an  air  of  festival  about 
the  young  noble's  attire  that  added  to  the  radiance  with 
which  lovers  are  invested  in  women's  eyes.  At  the 
sight  of  him,  all  Mile,  de  Verneuil's  presence  of  mind 
returned  to  her.  The  white  enamel  of  her  teeth  showed 
between  the  tightly-strained  lines  of  her  half-opened  lips, 
which  described  a  set  smile  that  expressed  dread  rather 
than  delight.  With  slow  steps  she  went  towards  the 
young  noble,  and  pointing  to  the  clock,  she  spoke  with 
hollow  mirth,  CA  man  who  is  worthy  of  love  is  well 
worth  the  anxiety  with  which  he  is  expected.' 

But  the  violence  of  her  feelings  overcame  her  ;  she  fell 
back  upon  the  sofa  that  stood  near  the  fire. 

4  Dear  Marie,  you  are  very  charming  when  you  are 
angry  ! '  said  the  Marquis,  seating  himself  beside  her, 
taking  her  passive  hand,  and  entreating  a  glance  which 
she  would  not  give.    c  I  hope,'  he  went  on,  in  a  tender 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  359 


and  soothing  voice,  6  that  in  another  moment  Marie  will 
be  very  vexed  with  herself  for  having  hidden  her  face 
from  her  fortunate  husband.' 

She  turned  sharply  as  the  words  fell  on  her  ear,  and 
gazed  into  his  eyes. 

c  What  does  that  terrible  look  mean  ? '  he  went  on, 
smiling.  c  But  your  hand  is  as  hot  as  fire  !  My  love, 
what  is  it  ? ' 

4  My  love  ! 9  she  echoed,  in  a  stifled,  unnatural  voice. 

'Yes,*  he  said,  falling  on  his  knees  before  her,  and 
taking  both  her  hands,  which  he  covered  with  kisses  \ 
1  yes,  my  love,  I  am  yours  for  life.' 

Impetuously  she  pushed  him  from  her,  and  rose  to  her 
feet.  Her  features  were  distorted  ;  she  laughed  like  a 
maniac  as  she  said — 

c  You  do  not  mean  one  word  of  it  >  you  are  baser  than 
the  vilest  criminal ! ' 

She  sprang  quickly  towards  the  dagger  which  lay 
beside  a  vase,  and  flashed  it  within  a  few  inches  of  the 
astonished  young  man's  breast. 

c  Bah  ! 9  she  said,  flinging  down  the  weapon,  c  I  have 
not  enough  esteem  for  you  to  kill  you  !  Your  blood  is 
too  vile  even  for  the  soldiers  to  shed.  I  see  nothing  but 
the  executioner  before  you/ 

The  words  came  from  her  with  difficulty,  and  were 
uttered  in  a  low  voice ;  she  stamped  her  foot  like  a 
spoiled  child  in  a  passion.  The  Marquis  went  up  to  her 
and  tried  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms. 

c  Do  not  touch  me ! '  she  cried,  drawing  back  in 
horror. 

6  She  is  mad  ! '  said  the  Marquis,  speaking  aloud  in  his 
despair. 

4  Yes,  I  am  mad,'  she  repeated,  c  but  not  yet  so  mad  as 
to  be  a  toy  for  you.  What  would  I  not  forgive  to 
passionate  love !  But  that  you  should  think  to  possess 
me  without  any  love  for  me  !  That  vou  should  write 
and  say  so  to  that  ' 


The  Chouans 


c  To  whom  have  I  written  ? 9  he  asked  in  amazement, 
that  was  clearly  unfeigned. 

c  To  that  virtuous  woman  who  wished  to  kill  me  ! % 

The  Marquis  turned  pale  at  this,  and  grasped  the  back 
of  the  armchair  by  which  he  was  standing  so  tightly  that 
he  broke  it,  as  he  cried — 

c  If  Mme.  du  Gua  has  been  guilty  of  any  foul  play  ' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  looked  round  for  the  letter  and 
could  not  find  it  again — she  called  Francine,  and  the 
Breton  maid  came. 

c  Where  is  the  letter  ? * 

1  M.  Corentin  took  it  away  with  him.* 

Q  Corentin  !  Ah  !  I  understand  everything  now.  That 
letter  was  his  doing.  He  has  deceived  me,  as  he  can 
deceive,  with  diabolical  ingenuity.' 

She  went  to  the  sofa  and  sank  down  upon  it,  with  a 
piercing  wail,  and  a  flood  of  tears  fell  from  her  eyes. 
Doubt  and  certainty  were  equally  horrible.  The  Marquis 
flung  himself  at  his  mistress's  feet,  and  clasped  her  to  his 
breast,  saying  over  and  over  again  for  her  the  only  words 
that  he  could  pronounce — 

c  Why  do  you  weep,  dear  angel  ?  What  is  the  trouble  ? 
Your  scornful  words  are  full  of  love.  Do  not  weep  !  I 
love  you  ;  I  love  you  for  ever  ! ' 

Suddenly  he  felt  that  she  clasped  him  to  her  with 
superhuman  strength,  and  in  the  midst  of  her  sobs  she 
said,  c  You  love  me  still  ? ' 

c  Can  you  doubt  it  ? '  he  answered,  and  his  tone  was 
almost  sad. 

She  withdrew  herself  suddenly  from  his  arms,  and 
sprang  back  two  paces,  as  if  in  confusion  and  dread. 
6  If  I  doubt  it  ? '  she  cried. 

She  saw  the  Marquis  smiling  at  her  with  such  gentle 
irony  that  the  words  died  away  on  her  lips.  She  let  him 
take  her  hand  and  lead  her  as  far  as  the  threshold.  Marie 
saw,  at  the  end  of  the  salon,  an  altar  that  had  been  hastily 
erected  during  her  absence.    The  priest,  who  had  resumed 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  361 


his  ecclesiastical  garb,  was  there ;  and  the  light  upon  the 
<  ceiling  from  the  shining  altar  candles  was  sweet  as  hope. 
She  recognised  the  two  men  who  had  before  saluted  her ; 
1  they  were  the  Comte  de  Bauvan  and  the  Baron  du 
I  Guenic,  the  two  witnesses  whom  Montauran  had  chosen. 

'Will  you  still  refuse?'  the  Marquis  asked  her  in  a 
I  low  voice.    But  when  she  saw  the  scene  before  her,  she 
!  shrank  back  a  step  so  as  to  reach  her  own  room  again, 
1  and  fell  upon  her  knees  before  the  Marquis,  and  raised  her 
hands  to  him,  and  cried — 

4  Oh,  forgive  me  !  forgive  !  forgive  ' 

Her  voice  died  in  her  throat,  her  head  fell  back,  her 
eyes  were  closed,  and  she  lay  as  if  dead  in  the  arms  of  the 
Marquis  and  of  Francine.  When  she  opened  her  eyes 
again  she  met  the  gaze  of  the  young  chief — a  look  full  of 
kindness  and  of  love. 

i  Patience,  Marie  !    This  is  the  last  storm  !'  he  said. 
c  Yes,  the  last ! 9  she  echoed. 
I     Francine  and  the  Marquis  looked  at  each  other  in 
;  surprise,  but  she  enjoined  silence  on  them  both  by  a 
gesture. 

'  Ask  the  priest  to  come,'  she  said,  Q  and  leave  me  alone 
with  him/ 

They  withdrew. 

c  Father,'  she  said  to  the  priest,  who  suddenly  appeared 
before  her,  c  when  I  was  a  child,  an  old  man  with  white 
hair  like  you  often  used  to  tell  me  that  if  it  is  asked 
with  a  living  faith,  one  can  obtain  anything  of  God  :  is 
that  true  ? 5 

4  It  is  true,'  the  priest  answered ;  c  all  things  are  possible 
to  Him  who  has  created  all  things.' 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  threw  herself  on  her  knees  with 
incredible  fervour. 

4  O  God  ! '  she  cried  in  her  ecstasy,  4  my  faith  in 
Thee  is  as  great  as  my  love  for  him !  Inspire  me  * 
Work  a  miracle  here,  or  take  my  life  ! ' 

4  Your  prayer  will  be  heard,'  said  the  priest. 


362 


The  Chouans 


Mile,  de  Verneuil  came  out  to  meet  the  eyes  of  those 
assembled,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  old  white-haired  | 
priest.  It  was  a  profound  emotion  hidden  in  the  depths 
of  her  heart  that  gave  her  to  her  lover's  love ;  she  was 
more  beautiful  now  than  on  any  bygone  day,  for  such  a 
serenity  as  painters  love  to  give  to  martyrs'  faces  had  set 
its  seal  upon  her,  and  lent  grandeur  to  her  face. 

She  gave  her  hand  to  the  Marquis,  and  together  they 
went  towards  the  altar,  where  they  knelt.  This  marriage, 
which  was  about  to  be  solemnised  two  paces  from  the 
nuptial  couch  ;  the  hastily  erected  altar,  the  crucifix,  the 
vases,  the  chalice  brought  secretly  by  the  priest,  the 
fumes  of  incense  floating  beneath  the  cornices,  which 
hitherto  had  only  seen  the  steam  of  everyday  meals,  the 
priest,  who  had  simply  slipped  a  stole  over  his  cassock, 
the  altar  candles  in  a  dwelling-room, — all  united  to  make 
a  strange  and  touching  scene  which  completes  the  picture 
of  those  days  of  sorrowful  memory,  when  civil  discord 
had  overthrown  the  most  sacred  institutions.  In  those 
times  religious  ceremonies  had  all  the  charm  of  mysteries. 
Children  were  privately  baptized  in  the  rooms  where  their 
mothers  still  groaned.  As  of  old,  the  Lord  went  in 
simplicity  and  poverty  to  console  the  dying.  Young 
girls  received  the  sacred  wafer  for  the  first  time  on  the 
spot  where  they  had  been  playing  only  the  night  before. 
The  marriage  of  the  Marquis  and  Mile,  de  Verneuil  was 
about  to  be  solemnised,  like  so  many  other  marriages,  with 
an  act  forbidden  by  the  new  Legislation ;  but  all  these 
marriages,  celebrated  for  the  most  part  beneath  the  oak 
trees,  were  afterwards  scrupulously  sanctioned  by  law. 
The  priest  who  thus  preserved  the  ancient  usages  to  the 
last  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  faithful  to  their 
principles  in  the  height  of  the  storm.  His  voice,  guiltless 
of  the  oath  required  by  the  Republic,  only  breathec 
words  of  peace  through  the  tempest.  He  did  not  stir 
up  the  fires  of  insurrection,  as  the  Abbe  Gudin  had  been 
wont  to  do;  but  he  had  devoted  himself,  like  many  others 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  363 

to  the  dangerous  task  of  fulfilling  the  duties  of  the  priest 
towards  such  souls  as  remained  faithful  to  the  Catholic 
Church.  In  order  to  carry  out  his  perilous  mission  suc- 
cessfully, he  made  use  of  all  the  pious  artifices  to  which 
persecution  compelled  him  to  resort;  so  that  the  Marquis 
had  only  succeeded  in  finding  him  in  one  of  those  under- 
ground hiding-places  which  bear  the  name  of c  The  Priest's 
Hole,'  even  in  our  own  day.  The  sight  of  his  pale  worn 
face  inspired  such  devout  feelings  and  respect  in  others, 
that  it  transformed  the  worldly  aspect  of  the  salon,  and 
made  it  seem  like  a  holy  place.  Everything  was  in  readi- 
ness for  the  act  that  should  bring  misfortune  and  joy. 
In  the  deep  silence  before  the  ceremony  began  the  priest 
asked  for  the  name  of  the  bride. 

4  Marie-Nathalie,  daughter  of  Mile.  Blanche  de  Caste- 
ran,  late  Abbess  of  Notre-Dame  de  Seez  and  of  Victor- 
Amedee,  Due  de  Verneuil.' 

'Born?' 

*  At  la  Chasterie,  near  Alen^on.' 

6 1  should  not  have  thought  that  Montauran  would 
have  been  fool  enough  to  marry  her,'  the  baron  whispered 
to  the  count.  4  The  natural  daughter  of  a  duke  !  Out 
upon  it  !* 

c  If  she  had  been  a  king's  daughter,  he  might  have  been 
excused,'  the  Comte  de  Bauvan  said,  with  a  smile,  but  I 
am  not  the  one  to  blame  him.  I  have  a  liking  for  the 
other,  and  I  mean  to  lay  siege  to  Charette's  Filly  now. 
There  is  not  much  coo  about  her  ! ' 

Montauran's  designations  had  been  previously  filled  in, 
the  lovers  set  their  names  to  the  document,  and  the 
names  of  the  witnesses  followed.  The  ceremony  began, 
and  all  the  while  no  one  but  Marie  heard  the  sound  of 
arms  and  the  heavy  even  tread  of  the  soldiers  coming 
to  relieve  the  Blues,  who  were,  doubtless,  on  guard 
before  St.  Leonard's  Church,  where  she  herself  had 
posted  them.  She  shuddered  and  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
crucifix  upon  the  altar. 


3^4 


The  Chouans 


c  She  is  a  saint ! '  murmured  Francine. 

i  Give  me  saints  of  that  sort,  and  I  will  turn  deucedly 
devout,'  the  Count  said  to  himself,  in  a  low  voice. 

When  the  priest  put  the  usual  question  to  Mile,  de 
Verneuil,  her  answering  4  Yes '  came  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
She  leaned  over,  and  said  in  her  husband's  ear,  c  In  a  little 
while  you  will  know  why  I  break  the  vow  that  I  made 
never  to  marry  you.' 

The  rite  was  over,  and  those  who  had  been  present 
passed  out  into  the  room  where  dinner  had  been  served, 
when,  just  as  the  guests  were  sitting  down,  Jeremiah 
came  in  in  a  state  of  great  terror.  The  unhappy  bride  rose 
at  once  and  went  up  to  him,  followed  by  Francine. 
Then  making  one  of  the  excuses  that  women  can  devise 
§o  readily,  she  begged  the  Marquis  to  do  the  honours  of 
the  feast  by  himself  for  a  few  moments ;  and  hurried 
the  servant  away  before  he  could  commit  any  blunder 
that  might  prove  fatal. 

*  Oh  !  Francine,'  she  said,  c  what  a  thing  it  is  to  feel 
oneself  at  the  brink  of  death,  and  to  be  unable  to  say, 
"lam  dying!'" 

Mile,  de  Verneuil  did  not  return.  An  excuse  for  her 
absence  could  be  found  in  the  ceremony  that  had  just  been 
concluded.  When  the  meal  came  to  an  end,  and  the 
Marquis's  anxiety  had  risen  to  its  height,  Marie  came  back 
in  all  the  splendour  of  her  bridal  array.  She  looked  calm 
and  happy ;  while  Francine,  who  had  returned  with  her, 
bore  traces  of  such  profound  terror  on  all  her  features, 
that  those  assembled  seemed  to  see  in  the  faces  of  the 
two  women  some  such  strange  picture  as  the  eccentric 
brush  of  Salvator  Rosa  might  have  painted,  representing 
Death  and  Life  holding  each  other  by  the  hand. 

c  Gentlemen/  she  said,  addressing  the  priest,  the  Baron, 
and  the  Count,  c  you  must  be  my  guests  to-night.  Any 
attempt  to  leave  Fougeres  would  be  too  hazardous.  I 
have  given  orders  to  this  good  girl  here  to  conduct  each 
of  you  to  his  own  room.   No  resistance,  I  beg,'  she  said, 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  365 

as  the  priest  was  about  to  speak  ;  c  I  hope  that  you  will 
not  refuse  to  obey  a  bride  on  her  wedding  day.' 

An  hour  later  she  was  alone  with  her  lover  in  the 
bridal  chamber  that  she  had  made  so  fair.  They  stood  at 
last  beside  the  fatal  couch  where  so  many  hopes  are 
blighted  as  by  the  tomb,  where  the  chances  of  an  awaken- 
ing to  a  happy  life  are  so  uncertain,  where  love  dies  or 
comes  into  being  according  to  the  power  of  the  character 
that  is  only  finally  tested  there.  Marie  looked  at  the 
clock,  and  said  to  herself,  c  Six  hours  to  live  !  ? 

4  So  I  have  been  able  to  sleep  ! ?  she  exclaimed  when, 
as  morning  drew  near,  she  woke  with  the  shock  of  the 
sudden  start  that  disturbs  us  when  we  have  agreed  with 
ourselves  on  the  previous  evening  to  wake  at  a  certain 
hour.  4  Yes,  I  have  slept,'  she  repeated,  as  she  saw  by 
the  candle-light  that  the  hand  on  the  dial  of  the  clock 
pointed  to  the  hour  of  two.  She  turned  and  gazed  at  the 
Marquis,  who  was  sleeping  with  one  hand  beneath  his 
head,  as  children  do,  while  the  other  hand  grasped  that 
of  his  wife.  He  was  half  smiling,  as  though  he  had 
fallen  asleep  in  the  midst  of  a  kiss.  cAh !'  she  murmured 
to  herself,  che  is  slumbering  like  a  child!  But  how 
could  he  feel  mistrust  of  me,  of  me  who  owe  him  un- 
speakable happiness  ? ' 

She  touched  him  gently,  he  awoke  and  smiled  in 
earnest.  He  kissed  the  hand  that  he  held,  and  gazed  at 
the  unhappy  woman  before  him  with  such  glowing  eyes, 
that  she  could  not  endure  the  passionate  light  in  them, 
and  slowly  drooped  her  heavy  eyelids  as  if  to  shut  out  a 
spectacle  fraught  with  peril  for  her.  But  while  she  thus 
veiled  the  growing  warmth  of  her  own  eyes,  she  so  pro- 
voked the  desire  to  which  she  appeared  to  refuse  herself, 
that  if  she  had  not  had  a  profound  dread  to  conceal,  her 
husband  might  have  reproached  her  with  too  much 
coquetry.  They  both  raised  their  charming  heads  at  the 
same  moment,  with  a  sign  full  of  gratitude  for  the 
pleasures  that  they  had  experienced.   But  after  a  moment's 


366 


The  Chouans 


survey  of  the  exquisite  picture  presented  by  his  wife's 
face,  the  Marquis,  thinking  that  Marie's  brow  was  over- 
shadowed by  some  feeling  of  melancholy,  said  to  her 
softly — 

4  Why  that  shade  of  sadness,  love  ? ' 
1  Poor  Alphonse,  whither  do  you  think  I  have  brought 
you  ? '  she  asked,  trembling. 
4  To  happiness.' 
4  Nay,  to  death.' 

Quivering  with  horror,  she  sprang  out  of  bed,  followed 
by  the  astonished  Marquis.  His  wife  led  him  to  the 
window.  A  frenzied  gesture  escaped  Marie  as  she  drew 
back  the  curtains  and  pointed  to  a  score  of  soldiers  in  the 
square.  The  fog  had  dispersed,  and  the  white  moonlight 
fell  on  their  uniforms  and  muskets,  on  the  imperturbable 
Corentin,  who  came  and  went  like  a  jackal  on  the  lookout 
for  his  prey,  and  on  the  commandant,  who  stood  there 
motionless  with  folded  arms,  with  his  head  thrown  back, 
and  his  mouth  pursed  up,  in  an  alert  and  uneasy  attitude. 

4  Let  them  be,  Marie,  and  come  back.' 

4  Why  do  you  laugh,  Alphonse  ?  It  was  /  who  posted 
them  there  ! ' 

4  You  are  dreaming.' 

4  Nay.' 

For  a  moment  they  looked  at  each  other,  and  the 
Marquis  understood  it  all.  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 
c  What  of  that,'  he  said  ;  4 1  love  you  for  ever.' 

4  All  is  not  lost,  even  now ! '  cried  Marie.  4  Alphonse  !j 
she  said,  after  a  pause,  c  there  is  yet  hope  ! ' 

Just  then  they  distinctly  heard  the  stifled  cry  of  a 
screech-owl,  and  Francine  suddenly  entered  from  the 
dressing-room. 

4  Pierre  is  there  ! '  she  cried,  in  almost  frenzied  joy. 

The  Marquise  and  Francine  dressed  Montauran  in  a 
Chouan's  costume  with  the  marvellous  quickness  that 
women  alone  possess.  When  Marie  saw  that  her 
husband  was  busy  loading  the  firearms  that  Francine  ha( 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  367 


brought  for  him,  she  quickly  slipped  away,  making  a  sign 
to  her  faithful  Breton  maid.  Francine  led  the  Marquis 
into  the  adjoining  dressing-room.  At  the  sight  of  a 
number  of  sheets  securely  knotted  together,  the  young 
I  chief  could  appreciate  the  alert  activity  with  which  the 
Breton  girl  had  done  her  work,  as  she  sought  to  disappoint 
the  watchfulness  of  the  soldiers. 

CI  can  never  get  through,'  the  Marquis  said,  as  he 
imade  a  survey  of  the  narrow  embrasure  of  the  round 
j  window.  But  the  circular  opening  was  just  then  blocked 
I  up  by  a  great  dark  countenance  ;  and  the  hoarse  voice, 
I  that  Francine  knew  so  well,  cried  softly — 

c  Quick,  general !  Those  toads  of  Blues  are  on  the 
move  ! ' 

i  Oh  !  one  more  kiss/  said  a  sweet  and  trembling 
i  voice. 

Montauran's  feet  were  set  on  the  ladder  by  which  he 
was  to  escape,  but  he  had  not  yet  extricated  himself  from 
the  window,  and  felt  himself  clasped  in  a  desperate 
embrace.  He  uttered  a  cry,  for  he  saw  that  his  wife  had 
dressed  herself  in  his  clothes,  and  tried  to  hold  her  fast, 
but  she  tore  herself  hastily  from  his  arms,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  descend  the  ladder.  In  his  hand  he  kept  a 
scrap  of  some  woven  material,  and  a  sudden  gleam  of 
moonlight  showed  him  that  it  must  be  a  strip  of  the 
waistcoat  that  he  had  worn  on  the  previous  evening. 

1  Halt  !    Fire  by  platoons  ! 9 

Hulot's  words  spoken  broke  the  deep  stillness  that  had 
something  hideous  about  it,  and  snapped  the  charm  that 
seemed  hitherto  to  have  prevailed  over  the  place  and  the 
men  in  it.  The  sound  of  a  salvo  of  balls  at  the  base  of 
the  tower  in  the  valley  bottom  followed  hard  upon  the 
firing  of  the  Blues  upon  the  Promenade.  Volley  suc- 
ceeded volley  without  interruption  ;  the  Republicans  kept 
up  their  fire,  mercilessly ;  but  no  sound  was  uttered  by 
the  victims — there  was  a  horrible  silence  between  each 
discharge. 


368 


The  Chouans 


Corentin,  however,  suspected  some  trap,  for  he  had 
heard  one  of  the  men,  whom  he  had  pointed  out  to  the 
commandant,  drop  from  his  lofty  position  at  the  top  o 
the  ladder. 

c  Not  one  of  those  animals  makes  a  sound,'  he  remarkec 
to  Hulot.  c  Our  pair  of  lovers  are  quite  capable  o: 
keeping  us  amused  by  some  sort  of  trick,  while  they 
themselves  are  perhaps  escaping  in  another  direction.' 

The  spy,  in  his  eagerness  to  obtain  light  on  this 
mystery,  sent  Galope-Chopine's  child  to  find  some 
torches.  Hulot  had  caught  the  drift  of  Corentin's 
suspicions  so  aptly  that  the  old  soldier,  who  was  pre- 
occupied with  the  sounds  of  an  obstinate  encounter  that 
was  taking  place  before  the  guard-house  in  St.  Leonard's 
Gate,  exclaimed,  c  True,  there  cannot  be  two  of  them,' 
and  rushed  off  in  that  direction. 

c  We  have  given  him  a  leaden  shower-bath,  comman- 
dant,' so  Beau-Pied  greeted  his  commandant,  4  but  h 
has  killed  Gudin,  and  wounded  two  more  men.  Ah 
the  madman.  He  had  broken  through  three  lines  of  oui 
fellows,  and  would  have  got  away  into  the  open  country, 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sentry  at  St.  Leonard's  Gate, 
who  spitted  him  on  his  bayonet.' 

The  commandant  hurried  into  the  guard-house  o 
hearing  this  piece  of  news,  and  saw  a  blood-stained  bod 
stretched  out  upon  the  camp-bed  where  it  had  just  bee 
laid.    He  went  up  to  the  man  whom  he  believed  to  be 
the  Marquis,  raised  the  hat  that  covered  his  face,  and 
dropped  into  a  chair. 

c  I  thought  so,'  he  cried  vehemently,  as  he  folded  his 
arms.    c  Sacre  tonnerre  !  she  had  kept  him  too  long.' 

The  soldiers  stood  about,  motionless.  The  comman- 
dant's movement  had  uncoiled  a  woman's  long  dark  hair. 

The  silence  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  sounds  of  a 
crowd  of  armed  men.  Corentin  came  into  the  guard- 
house, followed  by  four  men,  who  had  made  a  kind  o 
stretcher  of  their  muskets,  upon  which  they  were  carry- 


A  Day  without  a  Morrow  369 


ing  Montauran,  whose  legs  and  arms  had  been  broken  by 
many  gunshots.    They  laid  the  Marquis  on  the  camp- 
bed  beside  his  wife.    He  saw  her,  and  found  strength 
sufficient  to  take  her  hand  in  a  convulsive  clasp.  The 
dying  girl  turned  her  head  painfully,  recognised  her 
I  husband,  and  a  sudden  spasm  shook  her  that  was  terrible 
!  to  see,  as  she  murmured  in  a  nearly  inaudible  voice — 
c  A  day  without  a  morrow !  .  .  .  God  has  heard  me 
indeed  ! 9 

c  Commandant,'  said  the  Marquis,  summoning  all  his 
strength  to  speak,  while  he  still  held  Marie's  hand  in  his, 
c  I  depend  upon  your  loyalty  to  send  word  of  my  death 
to  my  young  brother  in  London.    Write  to  him,  and 

i  tell  him  that  if  he  would  fain  obey  my  last  wishes,  he 
will  not  bear  arms  against  France ;  but  he  will  never 

j  forsake  the  service  of  the  King.' 

I  *  It  shall  be  done,'  said  Hulot,  pressing  the  hand  of  the 
dying  man. 

c  Take  them  to  the  hospital  near  by,'  cried  Corentin. 

Hulot  grasped  the  spy  by  the  arm  in  such  a  sort  that 
he  left  the  marks  of  his  nails  in  the  flesh  as  he  said  to 
him — 

4  Since  your  task  here  is  ended,  be  off !  And  take  a 
good  look  at  the  face  of  Commandant  Hulot,  so  that 
you  may  never  cross  his  path  again,  unless  you  have  a 
mind  to  have  his  cutlass  through  your  body.' 

The  old  soldier  drew  his  sabre  as  he  spoke. 

1  There  is  another  of  your  honest  folk  who  will  never 
make  their  fortunes,'  said  Corentin  to  himself,  when  he 
was  well  away  from  the  guard-house. 

The  Marquis  was  still  able  to  thank  his  enemy  by  a 
movement  of  the  head,  expressing  a  soldier's  esteem  for 
a  generous  foe. 

In  1827  an  °W  man,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  was 
bargaining  for  cattle  in  the  market  of  Fougeres.  Nobody 
took  any  special  heed  of  him,  though  in  his  time  he  had 

2  A 


37° 


The  Chouans 


killed  more  than  a  hundred  men.  No  one  even  reminded 
him  of  his  nickname  of  Marche-a-Terre.  The  person  to 
whom  valuable  information  concerning  the  actors  in  this 
drama  is  owing  saw  the  man  as  he  led  a  cow  away ;  there 
was  that  look  of  homely  simplicity  about  him  which 
prompts  the  remark, c  That  is  a  very  honest  fellow  ! * 

As  for  Cibot,  otherwise  called  Pille-Miche,  his  end  has 
been  witnessed  already.  Perhaps  Marche-a-Terre  made 
a  vain  attempt  to  rescue  his  comrade  from  the  scaffold, 
and  was  present  in  the  market  place  of  Alen^on  at  the 
terrific  riot  that  occurred  during  the  famous  trials  of 
Rifoel,  Bryond,  and  La  Chanterie. 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  Constable,  Printers  to  Her  Majesty, 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press. 


